#poor child needs to find a different way to cope and not make deals with whatever the hell they have under their house

[issdisgrace]

Slashers with a person who uses comedy to cope with stressful situations? Like cracking jokes when they literally just fell down the stairs or nearly just got mugged and makes a pun out of it. Specifically Asa or Jesse please I’m desperate for them. Please and thank you 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

SLASHERS WITH A S/O THAT USES HUMOR TO COPE

WARNINGS: None

ASA

At first Asa was put off by the fact that you used humor to cope. But slowly over time it became a weird thing he loved about you. Also your way of coping rubbed off a little on him and on the rare occasion he will crack a joke or two about him being an orphan.

BO

Bo will forever give you the side eye when you use humor to cope. It doesn’t matter how long you are togeather. He will always think that you using humor to cope is weird. But his mindset is very why joke about when you can just not in-knowledge it and push it deep down inside.

JESSE

Jesse is very much of a toss up. At times he doesn’t care about the fact you use humor to cope. And can/will find your jokes about whatever situation funny. But then other times he is worried that you use humor to cope because it isn’t a all to health coping mechanism. And will ask you if your alright or to stop.

LESTER

Lester doesn’t mind that you use humor to cope. In fact Lester is right there with you using humor to cope. Lester really started using humor to cope when he realized that his parents hitting him and his brother was not normal. It helped him a lot to deal with the abuse and it still does to this day.

MICHAEL

Michael quite literally doesn’t pay any attention to the fact you use humor to cope. He met a couple of people when he was in the Smith’s Grove that used humor to cope with the fact they were in the sanitarium.

OTIS

Otis is no stranger to using humor to cope with things. When he was a child that was how he coped with a lot of things. But then as he got older he started using torturing and killing people as a way to cope with things. So he doesn’t mind at all about the fact you use humor to cope with things.

PATRICK

Patrick doesn’t notice at all. He is in his own little world. He probably won’t even catch on to you using humor to cope unless someone directly says something about. And even then he kinda just shrugs it off and is like eh everyone copes differently.

THOMAS

This poor baby doesn’t understand at all. He has never been exposed to people using humor cope with stressful/difficult situations. So he is really really concerned for you. He sits you down is like why are you joking about this, this isn’t funny. You need to stop.

VINCENT

Vincent doesn’t bat an eye at you using humor to cope at first. But then you continuously use humor to cope with stressful and/or difficult situations. And he becomes concerned to the point he sits you down is like please stop baby it’s not healthy way to deal with your emotions all the time.

#slashers #asa emory #bo sinclair #jesse cromeans #lester sinclair #michael myers #otis driftwood #patrick bateman #thomas hewitt #vincent sinclair #asa emory x male reader #asa emory x reader #bo sinclair x male reader #bo sinclair x reader #jesse cromeans x male reader #jesse cromeans x reader #lester sinclair x male reader #lester sinclair x reader #michael myers x male reader #michael myers x reader #otis driftwood x male reader #otis driftwood x reader #patrick bateman x male reader #patrick bateman x reader #thomas hewitt x male reader #thomas hewitt x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x male reader

[colorcodedbeanies]

S2 E5-"Breakage

Sorry about the long posting gaps, new job+sick+RDR2+L+ratio etc. Favorite line from this episode is "why don't you stop being such a freak about everything" I think I should be paid to say that to Walt once an hour.

TW: Racism, police brutality, addiction, alcoholism

So I've always been really unsure what to make of the cold opening of the two illegal immigrants crossing the Rio Grande. With the analytic frameworks I've applied until this point I think I'm choosing to understand it as complicating the idea that violence is sneaking up into the US across the Mexican border. Two scared, shivering men cross the river, and on the other end find an artifact of state-sanctioned violence. It never had to be imported from "lawless Mexican hell", as Marie describes it. We grow it just fine right here.

The cigarettes Walt finds jammed in the toilet act in visual parallel to Jesse's meth that he tried to flush down the toilet last season. The scene where he confronts Skyler about them is chockful of hypocrisy. Smoking while pregnant is bad for the baby's health. So is being a meth dealer trading with people who will shoot your whole family. Beyond that, though, there's one line from Skyler that stands out to me: "I'm sure you'll be very glad to hear that yes, I feel ashamed." She's accurately calling out what Walt's actual priority is. It's not determining the health of their child, or trying to help her so she doesn't feel the need to seek out a narcotic to cope. It's punishing her for needing an escape in the first place. Exactly the attitude he spends all of last season directing at Jesse.

Speaking of more socially acceptable addictions. I have never once seen anyone draw a connection between the fact that Walt cooks meth and Hank brews beer. Both manufacture substances that have heavy ties with addiction, and that can destroy lives. Both seem to seek out the crafting process as an escape from their day to day stress (Hank taking a day off to try and self-therapize with it). Only difference is Hank operates under the banner of legality, something the two of them talk about indirectly in 1x07.

We're getting in this episode to how Walt tends to mythologize the brown men around him into figures of ultimate violence, but also ultimate power. His disdain for Tuco is pretty explicitly racialized when he disparagingly asks Jesse if "you['re] gonna beat your 'homies' to death when they 'diss' you?" However, later in this episode he criticizes Jesse for not being ENOUGH like Tuco. "You think Tuco had 'breakage'? I guess that's true. He broke bones." This is of course, factually inaccurate. Beyond what we see in BCS that establishes Tuco had some clear problems in his organization that went way beyond some product theft, it's also just actually impossible to run any kind of business without experiencing any kind of skimming. Like Jesse says, J.C. Penney's gets breakage. How much more so when you're dealing with a substance that inherently manufactures dependence? None of those realities matter to Walt, though, who is chasing after his idea of what a kingpin is like. Tuco doesn't live on in his memories as a unstable guy with an uncle he looks after and poor long-term planning. Instead, he's transformed into an unstoppable killing machine, brutal and (you should read the full racial implications into this word) savage, but also untouchable. The kind of man Walt secretly longs to be and is currently using Jesse as a proxy to try to achieve

This is further doubled down on when, after an argument with Skyler where Walt feels unmanned by his inability to control his wife's behavior, he goes right to Jesse's house and demands he take care of business. Its him trying to imitate Tuco again, though this time not by his own hands.

Jesse is also doing some imitation here. It's not Tuco he acts like at the meeting though. It's Walt.

Hank can't glorify the Tuco fight with his usual bravado. He can, however, provide unique insight into a cop's view of a criminal when he describes them as functionally subhuman. Cockroaches. Your first instinct is to step on them. Drug dealers, addicts, gangsters, Mexicans they aren't people like you and me. If you saw one, you would immediately know you had to crush it to preserve yourself. This is going to get sooooo beautifully subverted next episode.

The Skyler-Marie conflict continues to act in parallel to the Skyler-Walt conflict, with Skyler refusing to proceed until Marie does her the basic service of respecting her with the truth. Marie tantrums like Walt does, asking "why are you punishing me" and seemingly frustrated that the consequences can't just evaporate because she doesn't want to deal with them. At the end of the day though. The distinction is that Marie loves her sister more than her pride. Walt...remains to be seen.

#breaking bad #brba #analysis tag #long post #walter white #jesse pinkman #hank schrader #marie schrader #tuco salamanca #brba s2 e5

[aisha-ot]

Well hello there everyone, long time no see …

I’m back and I hope you’re ready because we’re about to catch the flight of a lifetime.

I’m currently in my final year of studying Occupational Therapy (I know right, I still can’t process it). This year entails a number of new experiences and I can’t wait to share it all with you.

This week I want to start off with something that I think is one of the most important things to talk about seeing as I’m in a block that deals with it directly. The health of mothers and children, specifically looking at mothers and children living in communities like the one I’m working in.

My first block this year is community block. And, let me tell you, WOAH. It is a big change and a lot of work and many things to wrap my head around. I cant lie, I’ve had around 4 crying sessions so far, but we all know that’s how I cope. Cry and get back to work. It’s a good tactic in my opinion.

Back to my point, maternal and child health within the community.

I read an interesting article when thinking about how to go about this discussion that I think would be a great way to understand a mother so that we can also then understand how it affects our work as OT’s. I’ll add the link below so that you can also take a look at it.

The main thing I wanted to take from the article was that a mother is seen in different ways at different levels (Common Good, 2022).

A mother as an individual has personal experiences, struggles and problems that plays a part in how they function in their day to day lives. This can speak to their identity, their self-esteem and their overall mental health. This is so important to understand because let’s take us for example, when we’re upset or we’re sad or if we aren’t feeling good in our own skin, we sometimes don’t feel like doing anything or we don’t feel like leaving our rooms. Let me know if I’m right or if I’m talking rubbish.

I hope that what I said makes sense. But now let’s think about mothers, imagine feeling all of what was said above and not wanting to do anything, but you have a whole human being to take care of that needs your support. I’m hoping that my point is starting to take shape in your minds at this point. When looking at a mother as an individual we have to consider how their personal health and mental health can be affecting the care and development of their child. A mothers poor personal and mental health in turn has a negative effect on the child’s overall health. This is one of the reasons at to why maternal health is so important, especially to Occupational Therapists. We need to focus on mothers and intervene in any way we can in order to prevent a domino effect of further issues developing as time goes on.

(Waters, 2022)

(PSA: this is not what a mum and child’s environment looks like in a South African community setting!!)

Before we move on to the other 2 levels of a mother, I do want to touch on something I’ve learnt this week that links to our role as Occupational Therapist’s. It’s so easy for us to get sucked in to stories from our clients and to feel an overwhelming sense of sympathy and need to help in any way we can. I think I can sometimes get a bit carried away in this aspect. I’ll be completely honest here and tell you that I forget my role as an OT and feel this need to just give them whatever they need to help them in that moment.

BIG MISTAKE.

From all the lessons I’ve learnt this week (which was a lot, might I add), I think the one thing that sticks out to me is that, yes, we do need to find out personal information about our clients and, yes, we do need to dig deeper and see the hidden meanings. But in a community context, when we’re trying to provide a service to so many people in need of it, acting like a counselor is not what is going to fix things. Listening to a mothers story about the trauma she’s been through and letting her cry for 20 minutes in our session is not going to change anything. What is going to make a difference is asking the tough questions, finding the root cause of the problems and developing solutions that is surely to show change.

However, I read an article that expresses a thought that somewhat contradicts what I’ve just said. The link is attached below for those of you that want to expand your knowledge.

Let’s get into it. Ann A. Wilcock wrote an article about occupational science and within it she explains that transformation is the path to well-being, especially because it doesn’t focus on the “mundane” aspects of a persons life but rather on their dreams of aspirations (Wilcock, 2005).

This is a safe space, so I’m going to outright say that I do not agree with what she’s said. That’s because when we look at our South African community, so many mothers and families are suffering from a number of problems. Poverty, gender based violence, HIV/AIDS and the list goes on. In my opinion, our role as Occupational Therapists is to improve their lives in any way we can, even if that means focusing on the simple every day needs and problems faced by the mother, not to “transform” their lives and help them achieve their biggest hopes and dreams. I feel like that concept is somewhat unrealistic. Let me know your thoughts in the comments, I’d love to hear if you disagree, let’s argue…

I think it’s time I move on to the other 2 levels of a mother and try to wrap this up.

Let’s talk about the last two levels together because I think they somewhat link. Level 2 is the mother within the household and level 3 is the mother within the community.

What does the home look like? Is the father present? Does the father treat the mother and child right? Is the mother exposed to HIV/AIDS? Does the mother have the resources available for her to raise her child? Is there an income that the mother is living off? Is she working? Where does she leave her child? Is she able to access a doctor when the child gets sick? Can she get HIV/AIDS medication in her community? Is there a stigma of HIV within the community? Is there violence in the community? Is she safe in her home?

(Stats SA, 2014/15)

As of 2014/2015, 49.2% of South African’s have been living in poverty (Stats SA, 2014/15), and it’s most likely increased from then. This statistic is so clearly prominent in the community that I’m based in.

Out of all the mothers and children that I have seen this week, I can tell you that more than half of them are HIV positive, majority are single mothers, gender based violence is an underlying factor that mothers are trying to hide, they are struggling with generating an income and some are living off government grants and the community that they live in often threatens their safety.

The same goes for children in our South African communities. There’s another blog post from the Sikunye blog I’ve linked above that briefly explains the tragic reality of our children in South Africa, I think it’s a great quick read to understand just how many issues our communities face. It highlights that poverty, malnutrition, infectious diseases (HIV), stress, violence, psychosocial risks and disrupted caregiving are all risks to a child’s development (Common Good, 2024).

These are all factors that we as Occupational Therapists need to consider as each factor impacts the well-being of both the mother and the child. And we as Occupational Therapists have an important role to play in using the community based approach to improve the mother and child’s well-being.

To end off, I want to reiterate that we cannot be superhero’s and help everyone achieve their biggest hopes and dreams. But what we can do is use our knowledge, use our theories and our experiential learning and growth to find the root cause of the problems we see and change the seed that is grown, the soil it’s planted in and the water that’s used to grow it (my sincere apologies, I just laughed at myself for being that cringe). But the analogy makes sense, our role as OT’s is to be client centered and to have a community based approach which means we need to focus on the mother and child, their environment and the macro factors that impact their development and growth.

That’s all for today folks. Please let me know your thoughts on the comments, let’s interact and learn together. I’ll be back soon with more stories and OT life lessons, I hope to see you back here again.

References

Five Facts About Poverty in South Africa. Statssa.gov.za. (2015). https://www.statssa.gov.za/?p=12075

Good, C. (2022, April 20). What is it like being a mother in South Africa?. Sikunye. https://sikunye.org.za/blog/what-is-it-like-being-a-mother-in-south-africa/

Good, C. (2024, January 21). The big why behind the sikunye model. Sikunye. https://sikunye.org.za/blog/the-big-why-behind-the-sikunye-model/

Waters, D. (2022, April 26). What is postnatal depression and what treatment is available?. GoodTo. https://www.goodto.com/family/postnatal-depression-115582

Wilcock, A. A. (2005). Occupational science: Bridging occupation and health. Canadian Journal of Occupational Therapy, 72(1), 5–12. https://doi.org/10.1177/000841740507200105

[sufficientlyantique]

Today, I cleaned out my fridge. The fridge was full of icky, slimey, molding, smelly stuff. I had to make room for fresh food, since I was running out of space.

In the past, rather than deal with this unpleasantness, I wouldn't buy any fresh fruits or vegetables. Because, as a single person with kind of peculiar tastes and sometimes needing only a bit for a meal but having to buy more, or having strings of bad days with no appetite or no energy, leftovers would longer and spoil.

Today, instead of denial or bargaining or whatever other failed coping me I've used in the past, I approached the task very differently. I shopped for food knowing I'd have to clean old food from the fridge. So I knew I'd have to find a way to do that for several hours. Which meant I had plenty of time to sort myself out, prepare myself for the cleaning, and emotionally prepare to do something that usually grosses me out (squick). After shopping, I gathered the new food near the fridge. And relaxed, doing something that I enjoyed for an hour or so. Then, donning my rubber gloves (to keep the slime and icky feels off my skin), and putting on a couple layers of masks to help cut down on the smells (hurl worthy at times), I started at the top shelf and worked my way down. All the expired or decaying organics , I carried and tossed into my compost bin (yucky, but it's going to a better home). The swabbed out containers went directly to recyclables or trash. A quick rinse with diluted bleach throughout the fridge, and viola! A sparkling clean, organized fridge with lots of room was ready to be filled with crisp new veggies and fruits and proteins. Yay!

One thought /feeling that's been coming up for me about all this and my reluctance to deal with spoiling /spoiled food harks back to my childhood years. I grew up kNoWiNg that wasting ANY food was a moral failure and a financial disaster. My family was very, very poor, and there were a lot of us to feed. fruits were limited to apples and the occasional pear, or the wild strawberries and raspberries we picked from the woods ourselves. Veggies were from cans. Protein was from government cheese, powdered milk, and whatever we could catch or kill. As the youngest child, I was last in line, and it was eat what no one else wanted, or go without. No one was ever "full", and no one ever left a scrap of food uneaten. Uneaten or spoiled leftovers did not exist in my family, and the idea of spoiled food was unthinkable -- we would find a way to eat any leftover even if it meant mixing it with mustard or hot sauce to make it more palatable. Folks who lived in a home with spoiled leftovers must be rich and careless, we knew.

[poruvoron]

I like how chapter 82 establishes that Tsukasa was never a bad kid but also, Tsukasa needs a break man

late reply but TRUE... I really felt like he was super misunderstood the whole time lol,... but if aidairo's intention was to make readers dislike him, they pulled it off REALLY WELL

#poor child needs to find a different way to cope and not make deals with whatever the hell they have under their house #// #dear donutsu #ask #anon

[aminiatureworld]

Disappearance

Characters: Diluc, Razor, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,133

Warnings: Slightly claustrophobic

Premise: The line between small upsets and huge quarrels can be a blurred one, and it’s often difficult to cope with in the aftermath.

In which there is an argument and the reader disappears.

Author’s Note: Thank you for your request anon. I really cannot stay away from angst, and this was right up my alley. Poor characters, how I love to torture you.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to write Razor, he isn’t in my list of characters I’m comfortable with. For one thing I find his broken speech quite difficult to deal with. I can’t tell if I find it irritating or not, or if it’s an example of good characterization or the “savage” stereotype a la Tarzan – sorry Tarzan I don’t like you. But I tried to make the effort and I hope it came out well! Though I still don’t feel quite comfortable with writing him. I hope I handled the dialogue well enough. He makes me think of San from Princess Mononoke.

Diluc

Diluc accelerated his pace as the Winery came into sight, his normally serene face breaking into a small smile.

It was the best time of day, the time when he came home, the time when he could finally see you. The two of you had been a couple for about five months, and though it wasn’t the longest of time, it was certainly the happiest Diluc had been, happier even than when he was a child with a family to call his own. You were his family now after all, something that you reminded him when he was in his darkest moods. You were his family now, and nothing could tear that apart.

“Welcome home.” Your voice was warm with happiness, and you threw your arms around Diluc the moment he came through the door. Diluc reciprocated the embrace and for a moment the two of you simply stood in the landing, the picture of perfect happiness.

“I’ve missed you, beloved.” Diluc whispered.

“I missed you too.” You replied, smiling softly. Your smile slipped however, and was instead replaced with an expression of worry. “You were gone so late tonight, I was unsure if something had happened to you. Really, I was about to go after you.”

“Well I’m glad you didn’t.” Diluc replied, tone firm though not unkind. “We’ve talked about this before my love, if something were to happen to me, which it won’t,” he quickly added, seeing your gaze cloud over, “but if it did I wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger. I fight for you as much as anyone else in Monstadt, and for you to be injured or worse on my part, I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

“I know we discussed it and came to that conclusion.” Your words were slow, deliberate in tone. “But though I agreed to it then, I found tonight that I regretted it more than anything I might ever do. I cannot bear the idea of you somewhere near, hurt and crying out for help or worse…” you swallowed, unwilling to conjure the image to mind, “…I couldn’t bear thinking that you might be in a bad way and with no chance of rescue simply because I made a foolish promise. And while I was thinking about this all I came to the realization that I could never truly keep that promise. If you’re ever in need I will be there for you, no matter what. No matter what you said, what you think, it is the simple truth.”

“Please don’t do that.” Diluc replied, voice quickly becoming filled with emotion. “If there’s something out there that could hurt me like that, then how –” he paused, realizing his mistake, but you’d already caught it.

“How could I possibly defeat it?” You replied, a grimace replacing your smile. “You cannot treat me like glass Diluc. I’m an adventurer, a warrior in my own right. And I won’t be kept from saving the one I love the most, not when the only thing keeping me from it is his pride and a few words.”

 The two of you said nothing more of it that night, but the argument hung in the air the next morning, continuing the awkwardness up until you left for your adventuring duties. Diluc did nothing to breach the gap. He was in the right after all. And besides, it was such a stupid little argument, barely one at that. In a day or two it’d be nothing, and then all would be well again.

This conclusion was sorely tested when you didn’t return to the Winery in the evening. As Diluc prepared himself for another night of patrol he began to worry slightly. Surely you weren’t avoiding him. About something so small? No, most likely you were simply late. You’d be there when he got home. If he was sure of anything he was sure of that.

Unfortunately Diluc was proven quite wrong. The doorway was empty at his arrival, you were nowhere to be found. A sinking feeling began to settle into his stomach, and Diluc found himself quite unable to sleep that night, instead tossing and turning this way and that, wondering if you were truly so angry over something that he’d seen as so small. It was the only logical explanation for your disappearance after all, though Diluc wasn’t sure what to do about it. Chasing after you seemed somewhat uncouth, and besides didn’t that always make things worse? No, he’d give you space, all the space you needed. If a week passed then he’d seek you out, but before then he’d let you be. No point in jeopardizing the relationship anymore than apparently he already had.

His promise to stay away for a week was nearly torn to shreds by the end of the next day. Were you truly so angry with him? How could he have hurt you so much? Diluc didn’t know what to do. During the day he tried to behave as always, keeping tabs on everything he could and busying himself as much as possible. At night, however, the feeling became more and more unbearable, and Diluc found sleep more fleeting than ever.

He kept replaying the argument, over and over again did he try to remember exactly what had happened. Was your tone of voice angrier than he thought? Was your expression darker? Had he been too curt, too dismissive, too demanding? What could’ve possibly caused you to simply disappear? It was unlike you; usually what arguments took place resulted in you trailing him more than anything else. Why was this so different? Turning onto his side once more Diluc closed his eyes. Tomorrow all would be well. Tomorrow you’d come back for sure.

You didn’t come back tomorrow, nor the day after that. Those days were some of the most anxious Diluc had felt since the immediate passing of his father. Work became unbearable, for words that one stood clearly on the page now swam before him, a sea of incomprehensible figures and symbols. Eating and sleeping too were utterly alien to him, and what those two days were mostly comprised of turned out to be him walking about in a stupor, too dazed and too worried to think about anything around him, anything other than you.

On the fourth day a knock came to his door, and with it came Katheryne of the Adventurer’s Guild. Her face was ashen, and she was fiddling with her hands. As Diluc gestured for her to sit down the anxiety that had been sitting in his stomach tangled itself into knots. What in the name of the Seven had happened?

“Master Diluc, we have some information, information involving your partner.”

“Yes?” Diluc’s voice was sharp and low, for he couldn’t bring himself to hide it. Collapsing into the opposite chair he tried to prepare himself for the worst, knowing that if you had left or, Seven forbid, been killed he’d never be able to move on.

“Well you see your partner, they went on an expedition, a commission rather. They were looking for bits of Noctilious Jade and Cor Lapis. Although these minerals are normally found in Liyue only there are a few reservoirs in Monstadt along the border of the two lands, specifically they can be found in certain caves behind the waterfalls that flood into the river. A merchant bought the rights to the land of one of those caves and, being a merchant, he couldn’t get it out himself, so we sent one of our own to mine it out for him, see if it was any good.”

“This is all quite fascinating,” Diluc replied, tone made sharp with worry, “but I can hardly see what this has to do with anything.”

“Your partner was the one selected. They went down to mine it but the entrance was the opening to a sharp drop and they fell down. We only managed to recover them this morning.”

The shock that ran through Diluc was something that he never wished to experience again. It seemed to pierce right through him, into the center of his heart. You’d been trapped. You’d been in need of help, stuck for days in the worst of possible situations, and he’d done nothing but loaf around the Winery. How could he forgive himself for something like that?

“May I see them.” He choked out, his throat constricted and burning.

“They are coming here right now. Thankfully injuries were minimal. Caves connected to water are the most dangerous kind, you can die and it can be impossible to retrieve your corpse. They were incredibly lucky.” And with that gruesome thought in mind Katheryne walked over to the door, opening it to reveal you.

Diluc had never moved so fast in his life. Instantly you were wrapped in his embrace. You returned the gesture just as fiercely, clinging on as if he was the only thing anchoring you, keeping you from collapsing from relief, from fatigue, from the terror that had yet to dissipate.

“Oh my love, oh I’m so sorry, so deeply sorry. Forgive me, forgive me for not being there. Forgive me.” Diluc whispered, practically incoherent. You were both shaking, and when you two collapsed in the chair closest to the fire there were no words for a good many moments. The terror you’d both felt was hardly over, and you both needed to be sure that this wasn’t a dream, that it was all over, and that you were going to be fine now.

“Diluc.” You finally whispered.

“Yes my love.” Diluc replied, a tremor still in his voice. You leaned into him, head perched on his shoulder, breath tickling his neck.

“I never want to quarrel again.”

Diluc reached over to cup your face. Raising your head slightly he leaned over, brushing his lips against yours, indulging in something he thought for a moment he might never be able to do again.

“Neither do I.” He replied, voice just as soft. “And remind me never to try to restrict you again, for if I’d not been such a fool I would’ve run to your side the very evening you were trapped.”

You smiled softly, expression conveying relief and tenderness and most of all love. Leaning in for another kiss you whispered something right before your mouth collided with his.

“I will follow you wherever you go.”

 Razor

Sitting at the edge of one of Wolvedom’s many cliffs, eyes trailed towards the far away walls of Monstadt, Razor wondered if he might’ve been too harsh.

It wasn’t that Razor wanted to quarrel with you, I mean you were the first and only person that he’d managed to build a sincere connection with. It was only that he’d grown up with a complete distrust of humans, and as much as he tried to bury that aspect of himself it still came to the forefront at times.

“I don’t understand what you’re so angry about Razor?” You’d exclaimed, face twisting into an expression of annoyance.

“Why do you like them?” Razor had replied, gesturing towards the people who had arrived with you, trampling their way through the forest as if everything belonged to them simply because they were human. He could practical smell the arrogance wafting off them, and it made his hair stand on edge. It was frustrating that he didn’t have the words to convey that to you.

“My guild members?” You’d said, glancing over your shoulder. “Razor I work with them. We’re going on a trip.”

“I want them to leave.” He’d practically growled, moving to take your hand in his. “I want them to leave, I want you to stay.”

“Well you can’t do that Razor.” You’d said, tone growing more and more exasperated. “And I don’t understand why you’re so hostile to them.”

“They’re human.” To Razor this was enough, but evidently the answer was hardly satisfactory to you.

“I’m human.” You’d pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Razor shook his head.

“You’re different.”

“No, I’m not. You just like me. And like it or not I’m a human, and a human who has a job to do. I can’t stay here, and I can’t stop talking to all other humans.

“Why not?” He’d shot back. “It would be better. Humans are bad creatures.”

“You keep forgetting who I am!” You’d exclaimed, shaking your head. “Whatever, I’m not arguing this with you. I’ll see you in a day. I hope that you can think about my feelings by the time this is over.”

Well the day had come and gone and there was no sight of you. Razor was too angry though to feel much remorse, no matter how much he missed you. You were probably busy anyways, talking to other humans, fraternizing with the enemy. For what else could humans possibly be? They cut down trees, killed the inhabitants of the forests. Even the wolves weren’t safe, for what farmer hadn’t taken a shot at one of them at some point in his life? No, Razor was not the one in the wrong. You were just too used to them. You couldn’t see it.

Still your absence sat wrong with him, and he found himself scouring the edges of Wolvendom the next day, trying to figure out what had happened. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know what he thought after all. And surely you wouldn’t abandon him so quickly, surely.

Razor was hardly so sure when the sun went down the next night. It seemed you were well and truly gone, though where he couldn’t tell. Maybe you really had decided to abandon him, decided he was too much of a burden, decided you preferred humans anyways. The thought ate at him, and he found himself walking around with a bitter taste in his mouth, unsure what to do.

Razor wasn’t sure what finally caused him to cross out of Wolvendom to look for you. Perhaps it was anger, perhaps it was guilt, perhaps it was that he at least wanted to say goodbye. No matter the cause however he still found himself walking on an unfamiliar path, as the woods shifted to plains. He felt vulnerable, uncomfortable without his familiar family. But it was too late to turn back now, and so he pressed ahead.

All sense of discomfort faded away upon running into you. You looked the worse for wear, covered in dirt, your clothes ragged. For a moment Razor wondered what could’ve possibly caused this. Perhaps there was a creature out there he was not aware of. Running up to you he wrapped his arms around you.

“You’re hurt.” It was more of a question than a statement, and you seemed to understand that. Returning the hug you sighed slightly.

“I was stuck in one of the shallow caves off of the Stormbearer Mountains. The passage we went through started crumbling, and I was the last one in line. It took some time to dig me out.” You laughed slightly, but there was a tremor in your voice, and you seemed ill at ease. “It was so dark in there Razor, so utterly dark. I couldn’t imagine being a creature down there, it all seemed to weigh down on me, and I thought it’d collapse and bury me at any second.”

Razor had tightened his embrace, the image seared into his mind. There was a visceral fear in his reaction, the fear of what you’d just described, but it was more complicated than that. To be down there himself was terrifying, but for you to be in that situation, and for so long, it stole the air from his lungs and weighed him down with such a sense of dread he could barely stand it.

“Humans sent you down there?” The tone of his voice was seething, but your reply was much calmer than it had been before.

“Yes. They did. But they also saved me Razor, you must remember that.”

It was something he hadn’t considered, and as he pulled away to look you in the face he pondered the implications. What he’d said was true, yes, but what you’d said was also true. They could’ve quite easily left you if they wanted, could’ve left you for dead and said there was nothing to do about it. Certainly some humans would’ve done just that, but they didn’t. Instead they helped you, for days they had dug, and thanks to that you were safe.

“I was wrong.” He said, tone straight, for it was a fact. He was wrong, at least about your people he was wrong.

“There are many evil people out there.” You said, expression pensive. “There are those who kill and rob and lie and think only about themselves. There are those who cannot see the world around them. But you can’t judge all of humanity by that. There are also those who care for every aspect of the world they can, who burden themselves with all the misfortune they see, so much it might break them. Humans are complicated Razor. So yes you were wrong, but I cannot say you were completely so.”

Razor said nothing, absorbing what you’d said. It was hard not think in black and white, something necessary sometimes for survival. But ever since you’d entered his life he wanted to try to understand you, even a little bit. And, especially after today, he’d do anything to make that effort a reality.

For though he understood little of humans and their ways he knew of one thing for sure. And that was the love he carried for you.

 Xiao

Looking back it was such a stupid argument. Of course all arguments seemed idiotic looking back after what happened. But if all arguments were stupid, then surely Xiao couldn’t’ve picked a stupider one to have.

“I wish you’d see me off at the bridge.” You remarked, strapping the last of your equipment into place. You were off to do another commission, something about recording a rare species of lizard and taking photographs of some rare luminous mosses, and once again the topic of goodbyes had come up.

“I’m saying goodbye now aren’t I?” Xiao tone was as brusque as ever, but this time you didn’t brush it off with your usual smile.

“I mean it Xiao.” You said instead, turning to look him straight in the face. “I know you don’t fraternize with people, I know that you consider it a result of the burdens you carry. I know that and I don’t ask you to go and set up shop in Liyue or some such thing. I do ask you though to simply be there when I leave the city. It would mean a lot to me to have you there when I step out into the wilderness, especially when I’m going to be gone for two days. Can’t you do this for me, at least this?” You searched his eyes, expression pleading, but Xiao simply scoffed and turned his head.

“Saying goodbye here should be enough. Besides, there aren’t any people here. Would you really want me to say goodbye surrounded by prying eyes?”

“No one is going to pry.” You pointed out, voice flat with annoyance. “And to answer your question, yes, yes I would like you to be there to say goodbye. I love you dearly Xiao, more than I have ever loved anyone, more than I ever will. But I cannot love you unequally. I don’t ask for much, but I am asking for this. Please say goodbye to me at the bridge.”

But Xiao merely scowled, shaking his head violently. Huffing you turned around, everything set and ready to go.

“Sometimes I don’t know why I put myself through this.” You muttered; stomping your feet ever so slightly, and slamming the door to the room behind you.

 Xiao’s sense of time was usually quite poor. To adepti days were more like minutes, and even months seemed as abundant as grains of sand. One of the things that had most surprised him about starting a relationship with you was how his sense of time was affected by it. The days with you were mere moments, and the days where you were gone dragged on and on, minutes replaced by endless boredom.

This time was no different, instead the feeling was exacerbated. Although the first two days were a blur, made meaningless by Xiao’s irritation over your final conversation, the moment the third day dawned and you were nowhere to be found time ground to a halt, and Xiao no longer became sure of what day it was, sure that a month must’ve passed instead of a few hours. You must’ve been more irritated than he’d thought.

Still the adeptus was full of pride, pride and principles. If you were staying away over something so petty so be it. He’d not be the one going after you, not when he was utterly within his rights. Why should he changed so over the request of a human? No matter how much he loved you a part of him chafed at the idea, and thus he did nothing, instead sulking the days away under the concerned eyes of Verr Goldet.

If he was filled with pride though, there was also anxiety. Day three came and went, then day four, then day five. When day six arrived Xiao’s will seemed to give up, and he spent his hours in a restless sleep, something highly unusual for the adeptus labelled the “Vigilant Yaksha”. It was if you had taken all his strength away, and what remained was nothing but anxiety and his quickly shattering anger. Surely nothing was worth this feeling of being eaten away by poison. Surely.

Night had fallen, and the moon had taken her silent vigil over the land. Xiao knew that he should get up, knew he should go after you. But it was as if he was chained to the mattress. His head was filled with static and he felt as if he were burning up. A headache had come on the moment he’d opened his eyes, and now he found he could do nothing but lay with his thoughts, each becoming darker by the moment.

He recognized the weight of your footsteps as soon as they came into earshot. Bolting up, all fatigue leaving him, he slammed open the door, taking the stairs two at a time until he finally came face to face with you.

If he was expecting something, it certainly wasn’t this. Though there was a smile on your face it was marred by the bandage on your forehead, and by the long gash on your arm.

“What happened?” The words came out in a rasp. “Who did this to you?” The weight had come back, and Xiao swayed slightly, feeling altogether faint, the range of emotions he was experiencing becoming overwhelming.

You pressed your hand to his chest, the other moving to cup his cheek. “No one did this to me.” You said, voice slightly hoarse. “One of the caves I was in collapsed, and I fell and hit my head while running away from the entrance. Thankfully it was nothing serious, and it only took them three days to get me out.”

Three days. The situation seemed torturous. Xiao was a creature of air, the mere idea of being beneath the earth was claustrophobic to him. It was to humans too, that he knew, knew from what he’d heard from Rex Lapis. The idea of you trapped underground, injured and unable to escape, it shook him to his very core.

Taking your hand in his he kissed your palm, silently thanking Rex Lapis and all the other archons for letting you come home. The situation, what you’d gone through, it was all crashing down on him. You were the most precious thing in the world, the one he loved most, the only person he would truly love, in all his years on this earth it would forever be that way. How could he take you for granted? Take your needs for granted?

“I’ll never fight with you again.” He whispered.

“I don’t know about that.” You said, smiling slightly despite it all. “Fights are hardly unheard of after all.”

“I won’t. Not about something so stupid. Not when…” he trained off for a moment, eyes clouding over. “… Anyways I won’t do it.”

“Does that mean you’ll say farewell at the bridge?” You asked, tone hopeful.

“I will.” Xiao promised. “I’ll do anything for you. For you are that which I love the most.” And leaning over to kiss you Xiao made a silent vow that he’d never let you go through anything like that. Never again.

#I never know the right time to post these #diluc #razor #xiao #diluc x reader #razor x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #requested #scenarios #my writing

[princeanxious]

New au idea just dropped: abducted by aliens + found family; familial anadukeceit addition with a twist:

tw: minor abducted by aliens, mentions of illegal scientific experimentation on a minor, general au theme following the rescues of ppl getting abducted, those are the big ones, lmk if i missed anything!

Virgil and Remus are normal adult humans that are part of a galactic crew that specializes in rescuing aliens that were abducted for black market trade and experimentation purposes and rehabilitating them

Janus is a young teenage human who'd been abducted and experiemented on for two years before his rescue, leaving him half-covered in abnormally healthy scales, sharp fangs and coldblooded-like qualities, and without a way to talk like he used to.(he can growl and hiss and whine ect., but they mostly ruined his ability to mimick sounds without it being painful and thus he cannot actually try to speak without pain.) He's not seen another live human in years, and is way too young to know how to cope with it, so he doesn't trust anything anymore and often comes off as extremely violent because he doesn't know whats a threat and what isnt, and isnt honestly sure hes not experiencing a vivid nightmare half the time.

Cue this team getting a report from a different rescue group about requesting help for a specific rescue from their mostly human rescue team, this time its about a small earth-like dealthworlder that had been discovered and rescued as one of the few surviving aliens from an illegal testing facility.

Report lists it as extremely volitile and hostile, but only when provoked(see: any attempt to interact with it). If left alone, it simply cowers in a corner and cries. There have been efforts to get it to eat that have only been semi successful due to the poor thing seemingly not being able to digest certain foods, and they worry it will simply die of starvation, or loneliness, if they cant get it's condition stable.

The reason theyre requesting Virgil's team is because the original rescue has never seen this kind of alien before, but it looks mostly human and thats the assumption. Humans are known to have high-packbonding instincts, and that persistence for kinship is pretty much this rescue's last hope.

To the humans, its a bit of a far leap seeing as they arent provided with any clear pictures of the thing, but its their job and theyre getting paid to do it, might as well try.

They.. They arent prepared to arrive to the sight of a child. Well, sort of child. A teenager? Whose regardless way too thin and quite too small to look anything but vastly unhealthy.

From his one side of his ribs curled up all the way around one side of his face and down that arm are rich yellow scales, that perhaps look like the healthiest part of him.

He wears a blindfold from his previous containment, and word has it the first alien to try and take it off was met with the worst lash-out yet and was still in recovery. They had kept it on him because he wont let anyone near take it off. It keeps him calm to be sightless, and its unfortunately all they can do to keep him that way.

And well, while Remus has always been the best at taming some of the wilyest deathworld creatures, its actually Virgil who has skill in taming those few labeled 'deadly.'

He sees this 'dangerous' behavior for what it really is.

Fear.

This is a child who is scared, terrified, and lashing out at anything that doesn't feel safe.

So you can imagine the brief uptic in nervous alien chatter from the main observation room when Virgil decides to walk straight into the containment room with no gear, no food, nothing but himself and his jacket.

Its a little jarring to hear a teenager hiss angrily at you, but Virgil used to Be That Teenager, so he doesn't really react. And he can see it when he speaks, using a soft and comforting voice, the way this kid freezes at being spoken to. In a langauge he understands.

"Hey buddy."

There's an immediate growl of uncertainty, pressing himself further away. Disbelief. It cant be, right? It's been 2 years since hes been in a room with another living human, there's no way.

..Right?

"Cmon now, none of that. It's just me here right now. My names Virgil."

He doesn't really want to believe it, that hes hearing another human. But he cant help the instinctual need to turn and hide the scales, the thing that makes him a freak of nature, no human would want him after what had been done to him.

Its a slow back and forth, really. Virgil asking a mundane question and getting some cautious hiss or growl or click in reply. But slowly, ever so slowly, the boy is relaxing.

"Can I reach my hand out? I wont touch you, okay? I want you to reach out too, if you're okay with that. We can move at your pace, okay?"

And maybe he gets a slightly petulant whine, but theres no aggression. Just. stress.

He holds his hand out, palm down, and waits. And is rewarded with an extrsmely shaky hand reaching out and grasping his own with a little fumbling. And then theres a pause, where the boy is taking thw time to register the hand.

Human.

And then the boy is all but flinging himself forward, blindly reaching out with a sob. Maybe some aliens in the observation room tense, but the humans in the room remain completely calm.

And now Virgil has a lap full of entirely too distraught child and no say in the matter, but thats fine. Hes content to just hold the poor thing and let the kid cry it out, god knows he needed this.

They learn this kids name, Janus, through some shake tracing of fingers on skin, then pen to paper. He's barely 16, and was abducted at age 14.

They learn one eye had been tampered with as well to match the scales, but all that was successful was a color change to yellow. It fortunately affects Janus's sight very little, except when hes tired and finds himself with migraines from his eyes being tired.

Janus is a special case, because he cant go back home, not with the things hes seen and experienced, as the galactic rescue is still a bit of a secret to earth. But hes a minor, so he cant very well join the rescue yet, even if he wanted to.

So, Virgil and Remus adopt him. Janus is more than happy about it, despite his struggles to show it.

They have a number of humans and humanoids on their team, one of which is a therapist named Emile(human), and another who is their navigator and unofficial translator named Remy(half-human).

Janus p much gets unofficially adopted by them as well, standing in as the cool uncles most likely, but through them he learns to deal with his trauma, and gets to learn how to communicate via galactic hand-sign language.

Sometimes a family can be a Team Rescue Group Leader, his Danger Tamer Chaotic Boyfriend, and their Half Danger-Noodle Half-Sassy Human Son, and two fun uncles who collectively know how to heal trauma and 47 different ways to say 'fuck you' in alien.

#sanders sides #anxceitmus #familial dukexiety #familial anxceit #anxceit #luka writes #luka's aus #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders

[sortasirius]

“Unity” and the Broken Boys

BOY Y’ALL BETTER SIT DOWN BECAUSE THIS IS AS LONG AS CAN BE AND I TOOK OFF WORK TOMORROW SO I’VE GOT TIME

This is....one of the best episodes in the show.  Yeah, in all 325 of them, this is hands down one of the best.

First of all, stan Amara for clear skin.

That silent treatment babey, right out the gate with the Angst.  Tbh Dean deserves it.

“Like I said, killing Amara, Jack dying...that’s the only way.”

“The only way.  Our one shot.  Our Last chance.  You ever get tired of saying stuff like that?”

“We don’t have to like it, alright?  But you and me, we gotta get it done.”

Amara is such a welcome energy in this whole episode.  She’s warm and understanding, whip-smart and probably more powerful than Chuck.  I love her.

Sam is a wonderful, understanding, loving dad.  I love him eternally.  He loves Jack so much, he’s trying so desperately to do what’s right for Jack but also what’s right for the world.  Jack made this choice, but he can’t live with it.  How do you support your child when their life is at stake?

“Come on man.  Blindly following orders, lying to Amara, sending her to her death. Does any of this feel right to you??”

“It doesn’t matter how we feel!  You know what?  Stay.  Stay.  Someone has to be the grown up here.”

“Yeah well someone has to keep fighting for Jack!”

“He knows what he signed up for!”

“Last I checked, we don’t give up on family.”

“Jack’s not family.”

Y’all should have heard the noise I made.  What a fucking line.

“I know how you feel about the kid, I care for him too, I do, but he’s not like you.  He’s not like Cas.  He’s just not.”

“I’m- I’m ready.”

You can see the regret, the heartbreak in Dean’s eyes.  You can see how he wants to take those words back the moment he said them, and for Jack to hear them?  It’s unthinkable.

Sam and Cas I’m just so fucking emo dude.

“Sam, you stayed behind to find another way huh?  I woulda done the same.”

AMARA

First of all, LOVE this structure.

Amara and Chuck have such a fascinating dynamic.  Rob and Emily do a great job (as they have all along) by clearly being siblings but...heightened.  You can just tell they both exude power, and the other is the only one they consider an equal.

“You and Dean had that whole weird...thing.”

“That wasn’t you writing?”

“Ugh, not that part.  Gross.”

What I took away from this is what I’ve suspected all along.  They HAVE free will, just not total free will.  Dean and Amara’s connection wasn’t Chuck, there are parts of the story he didn’t write.  Obviously, this comes into play later. 

I also have a hunch that Chuck doesn’t write romance.  I also think that in particular will come into play.

“Balance.  Something we’ve never tried before.  Creation and destruction, light and dark, brother and sister united again, but on behalf of one world, this world.  True balance.  The way it was always meant to be.  But you can’t.  You only care about your pleasure, your story.  Well, I guess that makes you the villain.”

“Villains get all the best lines.”

We see again and again this season, Chuck is irredeemable.  He doesn’t care about the angels, he doesn’t care about the world, he doesn’t care about anything.  He is a petulant toddler who has broken his toys. And when he realizes he’s trapped, he gets angry, he shouts and screams, completely at odds with Amara’s peace.

“You can’t hold me here forever.”

“I can hold you long enough.”

DEAN

Pain is the name of the game in this section homies.  Because not only are we dealing with Dean’s pain, we’re also dealing with Jack’s.  Jack says he understands why Cas and Sam mean more to Dean, but Dean clearly doesn’t, he, once again, wants to say more, but is stopped, still stopped by his fear: his fear of not beating Chuck.

Alright guys, gals, and non-binary pals.  Let’s talk about Adam and Seraphina.

Adam.  The first man.  And Seraphina.  The angel.

“My old lady.  She’s the only one who could put up with me all these years.”

Yeah okay.  Volume at 100 I get it lmao.

But also: Adam wants God dead not because he and Eve were kicked out of the Garden, but because he went after their sons.  The theme of protecting the children strikes again.

“Killing God is your plan?”

“Yeah, Billie’s been giving us a hand but Sera and me, this is our baby.”

This juxtaposed directly with Dean’s own pain at what he has to do to kill Chuck, to gain his free will: the cost of his child.

Adam’s rib.

And who else might get his ribs hurt, only to be likely healed by an angel?

It’s fine, that’s fine.  I’m fine with that.

“Jack, I don’t know how to explain it but, when I found out about Chuck, it’s like I wasn’t alive.  Not really.  You know like my whole life I’ve never been free, but like really free.  But now?  Now me and Sam, we got a shot at living a life, without all this crap on our backs.  And that’s, that’s because of you.  So, I want to say, I need to say...thank you, Jack.  Thank you.”

I’m gonna have to do a separate post about just Dean in this episode, because there is so fucking much to talk about, but there are a couple of things that I think are important:  Dean realizes how wrong he was, to say what he said.  He knows that it’s not true, this is the way he’s always coped with loss, by pushing the person to be lost away, but for Jack to hear it?  He can’t stand for that.

And:

Dean has finally pushed through the barrier.  He won’t be quiet in the face of his doubts anymore.  This is a breakthrough for him, and, of course, there are more to come.

SAM

Sam and Cas, my chaos duo.

The box, the inscription, the door.

Death’s library, filled with dead reapers.

And there it is.  The Empty.

It tells Sam the plan, the plan for Billie to take God’s place.  For everything to go back to the way it’s “supposed to be.”

This has always been the game, since season 13.  This is the longest of long games.

Sam fuckin Winchester, lying his way out of a confrontation with the Empty like the legend that he is.

He comes back with a new purpose: to stop Billie’s plan, and here’s where we get to the heart of the episode and maybe the heart of the season.

“You hear that?  Dean, brought to the edge of doubt.  His sense of duty, his rage winning out in the end.  And poor Sam, always gotta know everything.  Can’t leave well enough alone.  This is my ending, my real ending.”

The gun comes out, pointed at Sam.

Hmm...what did I say during 15x05?  Oh yeah, this.

And:

Dean would never survive killing Sam, but he’s willing to do anything, anything to earn his freedom.  His ending, where one brother kills the other and then kill himself.

Why, you might ask, did Sam not mention that the angels would be sent back to Heaven, why does he not mention Cas?  I’ll tell you why, or rather, Becky will.

Plus, Dean looks back at Cas IMMEDIATELY when Sam says that, when he mentions Eileen, and THAT’S the first time he hesitates.  He can’t lose Cas.  But at the same time, he’s willing to do anything to have his freedom.

“Sam we don’t have a choice, Jack’s about to blow!”

“We always have a choice!”

You know me, just sitting here thinking about choice, the ability to choose, and how that translates to their free will.

And Sam...I don’t think there will ever be characters I love as much as these.

“I don’t care if Billie gets what she wants!  I don’t man, I’d trade it all, I’d trade em all for Chuck.  In a heartbeat!”

“What about me?”

“You’d trade me?”

“Chuck has to die.  He has to!  Otherwise he’ll keep us tap dancing forever, and I can’t live like that man, I can’t live like that, I won’t!”

“I know you feel like that right now, okay? I know you do, but you gotta trust me.  My entire life, you’ve protected me.  From Dad, from Lucifer, from everything.  I didn’t always like it, you know?  But it’s the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on.  It’s the only thing I’ve ever known that was true.  So please, put the gun away.  Just put it away.  We’ll figure it out, Dean, we’ll find another way, you and me.  We always do.”

Okay I feel like this is going to be one of those scenes that I cry watching for years to come.  Because fuck.  After fifteen years they finally admit that not only did Dean protect Sam from Lucifer, but he protected him from John.  John.  On a par with Lucifer.

Dean and Sam have, for so many years, sacrificed themselves for the other.  Dean’s demon deal, Sam and the trials, every season they have fought to see who can die the quickest for the other.  But this?  This is them fighting to stop the violence, to stop from killing the big bad.  This is them growing, in our eyes, in real time.  Sam has always been able to get through to Dean when no one else had a prayer, but for Dean to listen, for Dean to take his words to heart, to stop the hunt for Sam, for their family, that’s how you know they do have free will.

(Btw Chuck’s eye effect when he dusted Amara was sick as fuck but I’m emo for my boys so.)

Chuck knows it’s a loss, he knows that his story has, once again, been thwarted by the boys making their own choices.  And he’s pissed, but in his anger, we get a bomb dropped on us.

“Spare me your contempt Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday.  You know what every other version of you did after “gripping him tight and raising him from perdition”?  They did what they were told.  But not you.  Not the one off the line with a crack in his chassis.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

Also, just worth bringing up this one as well:

Every Castiel pulled Dean out of Hell.  Every one told him the same thing.  And yet, immediately, with this Cas and this Dean, something was different.  Because what has everyone seen about Cas, from the moment he met Dean?

And there’s our endgame people.  Laid out on the line.

But we ain’t done yet, fam.

We’ve talked about the handprint, but you know:

So there you have it, our prep into the “monumental” 15x18.  I have spec on that, of course, but I think a novel is long enough for this.

What to take away: Dean’s rage was always Chuck’s plan, they do have free will, their love for each other, for their family, is what will stop Chuck’s control, Death is about to come back with a vengeance, Cas’ deal is at play, and, most importantly, Castiel and Dean Winchester are a blind spot for Chuck, something he has never, not once, controlled.

#welcome to my essay lmao #supernatural #spn #spoilers #my meta #spn 15x17 #destiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #jack kline #castiel #amara #chuck shurley #lilly liveblogs supernatural

[babydarkstar]

cacoethes

part two: bring your sweet loving 

rating: E (18+ ONLY) || pairing: ezra x f!reader || word count: 10.5k

chapter summary: as the night winds down and tensions simmer, we learn more about you, pieces of your past, and your relationship with ezra.

 warnings: ezra’s gigantic mouth that won’t shut up (suggestive language) and two criminals not knowing how to act; caretaking, i guess? reader cleans ezra but it’s nothing erotic; SMUT; handjob and graphic depictions of a glorious dick; dirty talk; dubcon maybe bc painkillers but he’s enthusiastic abt it; praise kink; switches having a great time; ezra’s subby in this but i promise he’s a dom too just not tonight; mentions of death, killing, tattoos, scars; mention of past drug use, bad coping mechanisms; mm i hc that ezra is a tiny tattoo guy so there’s that; fluff bc im sweet; author is a southern peach, forgive her if it gets a little slow and twangy up in here

a/n: un-beta’d bc mistakes are sexy. i’ll go back later and fix whatever i find but for now. enjoy. i’m literally just making shit up about this universe as we go but it’s working out for the best so bear with me. lmk if u want me to add u to be tagged here. tagging: @pedros-mustache @jk7789    

crossposted to ao3 :) || playlist || one || two || three

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here, Cee,” you said, adjusting the threadbare blanket over your cot and splaying a hand over it while she eyed you from across the tent, still standing amongst the carnage of a violent field surgery, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

The poor girl was scared. Well—not scared, not anymore.

Vengeful, for certain, though it seemed to dwindle with every minute she watched you interact.

Definitely wary of the two of you.

Which was appropriate, given that Ezra had killed her father and left her alone on an uninhabitable moon, only to be scooped up by his partner and deceived into thinking she was safe, and then forced to perform impromptu surgery to hack off an arm. But she appeared more wary to accept help from you than wary of you.

And honestly, if Ezra hadn’t just lost a limb and you didn’t want to hover beside him after not seeing him for a month to make sure he didn’t slip the veil in his sleep or disappear beneath your fingertips—and if you weren’t trying to earn her trust, you’d have made her take the floor.

But things were different now, they might always be. She had saved his life. You owed her your cot to sleep on.

“Wait,” Ezra said, swallowing thickly as he blinked, seeming to just process the words you had spoken, “You think so little of me that I’d let you sleep on the dirt after the day you’ve had? Now, I agree that our guest should find comfort in a cot of her own, but I will not deny you the simple respite of sleep. That would prove me an unworthy companion.”

“Ezra,” you said, giving him a look of incredulity that seeped into your tone, “You can’t be serious.”

He eyed you and clenched his jaw, still stomaching the fact that he had one less limb to worry about, and a bunch more problems to deal with. It was a look that told you he was not arguing with you, you were going to sleep on the cot. He would not be coddled like a child just because he lost an arm.

Which was, in itself, ridiculous. You didn’t plan to coddle him—you weren’t the type, not really. But. He’d lost a fucking arm. But he was also still delirious from the anesthetic, so that didn’t help his desire to prove something to the universe.

“You’re taking the cot, I’m not having this conversation,” you said, wiping his sweaty brow with your sleeve, “Tap into the ruthless outlaw inside of you and take it without regret. You know I hardly sleep anyways, I’ll live without a bed for the night.”

“Then I must insist you share it with me, precious angel,” he sighed, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning as his distant gaze darkened into something hungry, “I’ve longed to feel your body pressed against mine since I left with Number Two. The divinity of your skin.” He hummed, eyes fluttering shut, “More…more precious than the ore we risk our lives for. Sweeter than fruit. Fresher than a rainstorm.”

“Ez,” you warned, snapping a glare at him.

“Your body…so tender, warm,” he continued, entranced in his own fantasy, not even hearing you when you warned him yet again, “All soft and pliant beneath my touch. It has been far too long since we partook in a pleasure as indulgent as one another—before our partnership with Two, if I can recall. Grant me heaven tonight. I deserve the satisfaction of watching you drip honey for me—”

“Hey! None of that,” you snapped, cocking an eyebrow—and fighting the flutter in your chest and the heat tingling down your core, “There are young ears present, Shakespeare Erotica. Not to mention young eyes.”

You would do no such thing with him as long as this teenager remained in close quarters and under your care. He turned to look at Cee, as if he’d forgotten all about her for a moment. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care. Bastard.

“I’m okay as long as you guys don’t fuck in front of me,” Cee sighed, resigned to have dealt with too much in her past to be worried about flirting—no, verbal-fucking.

“We won’t be doing any of that,” you assured her, giving Ezra another pointed look before slinging his arm around your shoulders and helping him to the cot. He grumbled incoherently, moaning and groaning the few steps it took to ease him down into the squeaky frame.

When you finally got him down—forced him to lay down—he let out another soft whimper of pain, followed by your name. “Don’t go.”

Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, you bent down to press a kiss there, “M’right here, Ez. Rest. I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”

It was the least you could do—and that way you could take inventory of every inch of him to ensure he didn’t have any other wounds hiding and festering and threatening his life. Just as this wouldn’t be your first time tending to him while he laid incapacitated, he’d done the same for you plenty of times. There was very little, if anything at all, the two of you hadn’t seen of each other. Vulnerability had another name here: normalcy.

“After—” he rasped up at you, coughing and then righting himself, “After we find our way off this Kevva-damned moon—which we will—I understand if you no longer deem me…worthy of your affections. It’s the only explanation I can find for your denial of my offer to dote on you. I only pray you make good on your long-standing promise to drop me where I stand should I ever disappoint you, dear heart of mine.”

Okay, you didn’t know where all the insecurity and sentiment was coming from, especially hearing it from the mouth of your dear old confident mean-streak Ezra, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It made you ache to think that he didn’t trust you to stay with him, that he viewed himself as lesser because he lost his arm. Well, he was lesser, but only by mass.

Also, really? The only explanation he could find for you not wanting to sleep with him was that you hated him and didn’t want him because of his injury? He couldn’t think of any more glaringly obvious reasons, those of which had just been pointed out to him?

With a sigh, you brushed your thumb across the silvery scar on his cheek, “Rest now, chatterbox. I’ll be here when you wake up—and every morning after, for as long as I can. Only death could pry you from me, and me from you. You’ve got me, forever….I still see you as you are—a hundred percent you, a hundred percent mine.”

The words felt foreign on your lips, but he was bound to forget them the moment he fell asleep, so you didn’t feel as weird waxing poetic right back at him. The man had rubbed off on you in more ways than one. You normally didn’t speak to one another so frankly—at least, you didn’t, given the nature of what it meant to care out here and how you’d already unofficially established that you two were something more—but tonight you couldn’t fucking help it.

Ezra leaned into your touch, pawing at it with his hand, grabbing onto your fingers and kissing into your palm. A dull smile poked at his mouth and he let it engulf him. “Quite the charmer you are, siren.”

You didn’t respond, only half-smiled and wriggled—reluctantly—from his grasp to grab a few clean cloths and fill a bucket with water. After squirting the sanitizing solution in the water, you simmered the lights down to the lowest setting, to where your eyes had to adjust for a moment before you could make your way across the tent. His gaze bore into you—no, both Ezra and Cee watched every move you made; one in lazy admiration and the other in curiosity.

“Do you need me to put a drape over the post? I’m strippin’ him,” you asked Cee as you slung Ezra’s clean shirt from off the drying line onto your shoulder—you smiled at the floor, thanking yourself from hours ago for deciding not to burn it. You grabbed the bucket and tottered over to him, nodding at him to scoot. He obliged, giving you room to sit by his hip so you could ease his clothes off.

Cee shook her head when you looked to her for a response, opting to sit on your cot facing away from you with her nose in her book, so you shrugged and tugged the fabric off of Ezra in slow, deliberate motions, wincing every time he grunted.

As you took the time to clean off the grime and dirt and sweat of the Green, he told you about running into Cee and her father Damon; how he tried to take his entire harvest from the few cycles he’d spent with Two; about Two’s untimely, irrational outburst that cost them their life. About the Queen’s Lair and the mercs, and the plan to ravage and plunder and take it all for themselves. You thought the Queen’s Lair was a rumor. Not even a rumor—a myth, a legend, something fabricated by desperate fools with hazy minds of dust and their eyes set on fortune. But Ezra told you he’d seen part of it marked on Cee’s map, that her father was contracted to help extract the deposit. Cee even pulled her map out to point to the marked areas, albeit with clinical movements and short words.

So you made a plan to head out at first light, with the trip taking most of the daylight, and they’d be cutting it close but there was no way you’d let Ezra hike so many klicks in his state—not without a few hours’ rest first.

After you’d managed to clean his legs, his hips, his feet and get him into something more comfortable than compression pants, you moved to his torso and traced over each scar marring his skin, each jagged edge where something hadn’t healed right or wasn’t stitched properly. He’d lost some weight under the harsh conditions of the Green—you both had. But he still held onto muscle from the toil that came with survival on such harsh terrain; and he was naturally broad, he always would be, which made him sturdy.

Your fingers ghosted over a few microtattoos he’d gotten; one beneath his ribcage, one on his hipbone, and the one you’d given him yourself on his lower sternum. That one, as you brushed over it with a wet cloth, never failed to make you smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

A tiny, unfilled heart, a mere outline, barely a centimeter in size. It was messy, simple, done in minutes. But it meant something, meant exactly what you’d never quite been able to voice.

My heart is yours. Take it.

You’d done it one night when the two of you had gone on a two spin bender, which happened more towards the end of your glory days, when the drugs came easy and heavy and the illusion of time slipped by like sand on the wind.

Any time someone hired your services as cleaners, it took a toll. They didn’t do it often because of that, but the payout was worth the work. No matter how many times you swore you would never do it again, you went back. Because it was hard to ignore the way it felt to flood a deserving someone’s mouth with the taste of their own blood, or to slip a knife in between their ribs and let it slide like butter and watch the light die. It was hard to ignore that you liked it, especially when it was so violent—one of the worst sins to commit, and you enjoyed it.

The act of killing had become cathartic for you. It made you feel more alive, reminded you that you had a beating, bloody heart, and a brain, and veins that pumped blood, and muscles that tore apart and rebuilt themselves stronger. Killing came easy when you didn’t know the target. It felt like a game.

Ezra didn’t enjoy it as much as you did—not to say he didn’t enjoy it at all, for he most certainly did. But he didn’t process it the same way you did. He saw killing as a means to survive and a means to get where he needed to go. He enjoyed turning it into a game, making fun out of whatever circumstance presented itself.

But that one—the last one—it had gone wrong. Messy, slow, noisy, choppy. There was only supposed to be one person in the house: typical target, a man who owed the wrong people a whole lot of money and refused to pay up.

One man.

One man was all you’d expected.

One man was all you’d been instructed would be in the condo.

He went down easy enough, quiet enough—Ezra snuffed him and stuffed him and you’d made to transfer his points into the right pockets.

And that was that.

They had tossed the bodybag over the high-rise balcony and into the pits of the bottomless highway next to the building, with a blinker-bomb inside just in case.

That was that.

Except it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from it.

Ezra, being himself, had wanted so bad to sneak in a quickie before heading back—an unholy, immoral ritual you two had initiated, to fuck where you killed—and who were you to protest? Who were you to say no to pretty words and soft eyes glittering with an untamed wild? To say no to the hands that already ripped at gear and pushed beneath underwear just to get a taste—you couldn’t, it was impossible.

Fresh off a high of adrenaline, pulsing with nervous energy—he was always so good, he always got you right where you needed and then that much further.

And Ezra—being himself—could not keep his fucking mouth shut. The stereotype about men holding in their moans, about them never whimpering or whining or groaning or grunting—yeah, that was a load of Bearkie-shit.

Maybe it held true for some men, but.

Not your Ezra. Not even a little bit.

He talked like heaven’s mouthpiece—or maybe the devil, given all the sinful things he’d whisper to you in the crux of any given night. He let loose whatever noise he deemed necessary to make.

They’d only just made it to the dried, bloody stain on the carpet (a bed on which to copulate), knocking over a floating hilolamp and pulling a chuckle from your paramour, when a shout rang through the apartment and shattered your moment into a thousand pieces.

It was only supposed to be one. One man.

Instead, you were met with another man who you’d later learn to be his brother, the target’s mother, and his pregnant wife.

The man held onto some type of curved sports bat, keeping it up threateningly as if warning you of something imposing. Ezra didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, not even bothering to get up from where he’d pressed his hips between your legs. But then you’d had to go and check the other rooms, effectively killing any mood the two of you had shared.

Because fuck, where the men had no fight in them, the women wouldn’t go down without a struggle. Or maybe it was that you pitied them, and it distracted you. They’d already peeked their heads out from behind the door of the master bedroom, worried and doe-eyed and determined.

Maybe if they hadn’t seen your faces—if they’d still been asleep while you swept for warm bodies after the first assailant—maybe they’d have gotten out with their lives. But who were you kidding? You killed without thought. You’d likely have put a pillow over their heads before aiming your thrower and firing twice for good measure, had you been sharp and not distracted by a tongue in your mouth.

Instead, Ezra had the audacity to try to bargain with them. Something about having a soft spot for mothers—his own having been a beacon in his life until she left him orphaned as a young boy. He made it a point not to kill women and children. It was one thing in which he remained unwavering. (He’d kill a grown woman if she gave him reason to, like he had on Exon-5, but that was another story for another time, and a different circumstance which called for such measures, namely that of protecting you.) But he should have known better, he should have known not to try something like that. He should’ve known that he’d have to let go of the final shred of morality he held onto.

So Ezra took down the old woman in a way you still have yet to ask about and don’t care to know; and you’d ended with the pregnant woman choking on her own blood when you twisted your knife into the dip of her throat—and you felt awful about it after watching her crumble beneath you, but she’d hit you upside the head with a thick textbook of outdated skimmer-craft modules and it made you see red among pinpricks of stars.

And that night, after all was said and done they’d spent a fortune on getting high—just to forget, just to be okay.

That night they’d locked themselves in a self-imposed prison of satin sheets and destructive tendencies. Two days buzzing with no food, little water, just him and you and needles and spoons and eyedroppers and blades and pills. Like you couldn’t breathe if he didn’t fill you with all of him, you wouldn’t be able to stand upright if he took his hands off you and stopped letting you flood your veins with a chemical glow. Heavy eyelids, messy sex, raw arms and red eyes.

It felt fucking awful, coping that way, but it felt too fucking good and it made you forget about the lives you’d taken in (somewhat) cold blood.

So after sprawling beside him on the gigantic plush bed with his hand ghosting over your spine, you’d found a part of yourself snagged at the corner of this wild-eyed man’s tar-black soul, and you had thought about what could have happened in an alternate universe.

A moment when he was the target, you were (somehow) the pregnant wife, and you watched him die before succumbing to the dark of your own soul escaping you. And it made you desperate to cling to him as he was in the moment, desperate to know that he was yours and you were his. It was then that you’d asked him if you could mark him. Claim him, to know that he wouldn’t leave you like that, and if he did, he’d have a piece of you everywhere. He’d go down with a piece of you.

Ezra had been delighted, of course, as he was always one for symbolism and deeper meaning even if he didn’t quite understand the rhetoric. And it wasn’t the first time you’d marked each other, just a different time with a different meaning. So he let you dip a sterile needle in ink and plunge it into the tender skin of his chest.

You had one too, a heart on your sternum. Nestled between your breasts, just close enough to your heart to feel like it mattered, like it meant that he felt the same. But you didn’t even let yourself go that far—you two were doped up and delirious and he enjoyed marking you in any way he could, so an opportunity to stick and poke his way further into your skin than he already had was an opportunity he could not pass up. At least, that was how you saw it. Nevertheless, it made you happy to see it there on his chest, and to have one that matched.

Ezra’s soft voice snapped you from the memory.

“What’s crossed your mind to make you so delicate in your touch, so solemn in your stare?”

You realized you had stopped your ministrations and had planted your palm on his chest, staring just over his shoulder and onto the canvas beside him. With a careful hand, you resumed gentle motion over his pecs, up his clavicle, his throat.

“Thinking about Beta-Mobilia,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “And after.”

“Mm,” he grunted in recognition, the vibration tickling your fingertips, “Regrettable night. Unavoidable, necessary. But I dwell in shame identical to yours.”

“I don’t deserve to be here after that. I didn’t deserve to live after the Exons, The Grime. Why am I still alive?”

“We’ve discussed this in great length by now, siren. Don’t doubt your existence. It’s beyond sense, beyond comprehension.”

You nodded, still unable to look at him. But then he latched onto your wrist, brushing his calloused thumb over the delicate skin there, and this time you couldn’t keep your gaze away from the soft smile that begged to form on his lips.

“And I appreciate your tender care, wildfire,” he hummed, eyes glittering up at you like two dark pools of amber, “Where would I be without it? Mmm…mhm. Dead, likely. Or bitter. Wicked with taciturn rage. No meaning could come from that.”

“You, bitter and unspeaking? Unthinkable, I’d sooner pronounce you dead,” you drawled, thankful for his kindness to grant distraction, and he granted you an eye-roll. But his expression softened when you sat him upright and maneuvered behind him, wiping down his back in gentle strokes. You folded the cloth over once the side turned brown with grime, and moved up to his neck, scrubbing over his shoulders and giving short strokes down his nape and behind his ears.

“So you planned to go ravage the Queen without me, huh?” you asked quietly, irked that he hadn’t even come to find you before setting out on that venture, “Planned to leave me to rot on the Green, take the money for yourself and steal away with the girl.”

Ezra sighed, and you could see from behind his shoulder how he worked his jaw, formulating what to say.

“Understand that I do nothing without you willingly. Birdie over there’s about as fleeting as a real one. But trust that I planned to come get you—I’d never leave you stranded. I just couldn’t introduce another person into the threadbare alliance I had forged until the time was right.”

“She likes me,” you countered, smiling over at Cee, who now laid with her back facing you as her ribs contracted with the first breaths of sleep. A sign of trust. You didn’t know when exactly you’d earned it, but you’d accept it nonetheless. She had also taken both of your throwers (something you protested and Ezra waved off), so maybe that helped.

“No doubt—there’s plenty to like about you.”

Ever the flatterer, even when delirious with pain.

With a coy smile, you scrubbed over his head and then his face, careful to avoid his snapping mouth that reached out ever so often to nip at your hand—there was that playfulness, the natural effervescence of his presence. When you decided your work was done, you eased him back down on the cot and he allowed it with no protest.

You fluffed his pillow and moved the book you’d stashed beside it. He turned his head and pressed his nose to the pillow, grunting in mild appreciation.

“Smells like you down here,” he remarked with a half-smile, eyes drooping, “You sleep on my cot while I was away?”

“I missed you,” you whispered, nodding, just now aware of how much his presence affected you. To think that you had resolved to try to move on without him—it seemed ridiculous now.

“I missed you,” he returned, “You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted you beside me. Number Two was a fond ally but not a companion. Nothing like the banter we exchange, nor the secrets we share.”

“They never talked. I imagine your time away was just as lonely as mine.”

“Absolutely. I regret agreeing to leave with Two. But you know we couldn’t have trusted them to stay at camp while we went off—not absolutely. Not when they’d never spoken a word,” he chuckled and then coughed, a quiet rumble you felt against your leg as it zigzagged through his chest.

Thank Kevva you had a plan to leave now. The spent filter had taken a toll on Ezra—and it wasn’t even his to begin with. He insisted on giving you his when the one your new suit came with was almost completely used up.

Fuck the man for caring about you; he’d gone soft during your time on the Green, and you hated how much you loved it. Hated it because he needed to focus on himself, needed to stop putting you before him. Hated it because every day it made you feel like somehow, he loved you back. That somehow, he thought of you as more than just a constant in his life, more than a body to fuck and a brain to pick.

You’d grown used to each other. But his unpredictability oozed into every aspect of himself, every nook and cranny of his life, and you were too worried about fucking up a good thing over a simple conversation. All it took was one sensitive topic breached and you’d surely find yourself shit out of luck. He was all you had left of the scraps of a fucked up life. Without him, you’d make do but not without a struggle and not without reluctance. Some part of you knew he’d be the same even if he initiated a split.

The thought had you hurrying to tug his shirt on before gathering the cloths and scurrying to place the bucket near the front of the tent.

And you shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with him—the two of you rarely kept things to yourselves. But to love someone so fully within your heart, to never want to be away from them, to never grow tired of their presence no matter how tedious they may be or frustrating they could get, it scared you.

“A kiss for the wounded?” Ezra asked, brown eyes wide and mouth pouty enough to break you from your racing mind. You softened then, padding back over to him on tiptoe and settling back at his side for a brief moment.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to grant him a kiss to his lips—the first one you’d shared with him in fuck knows how long. Too long, that was for sure, because when your lips notched with his chapped ones you melted, every worry and every qualm simply washed away in a swirl of pink pleasure.

You couldn’t help yourself—an indulgent, quiet moan pooled in your chest and slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and he hummed right back when his tongue pushed between your lips and you let him devour you. Always the ravager, ever a greedy bastard when it came to his pleasure, he licked up into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours. It took very little for you to melt right into his chest, pressing your own against him and whimpering when he sneaked his hand up the hem of your shirt to rub circles over the skin of your back. You remained sloppy and almost lazy but intentional as you held either side of his nape and toyed with the strands of his still-damp hair, pouring yourself into this kiss like you’d never kiss him again.

Fuck. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You missed this man with every vibrating inch of you. You missed his body, you missed his voice calling to you from the very depths of himself, you missed everything about him, and you needed him as close as possible. Closer than close, you needed him.

But fuck. You couldn’t. When you pulled back for air, it didn’t surprise you when he pressed his palm flat on your back to keep you from moving too far.

“Mm, baby—you’re divine. I ache for you,” he all but whimpered into your mouth, breath brutally hot and heavy as he fed you his soul, “Come sit down on me—come take what’s yours. I want to feel you strangle me, show me just how much you—”

“No, Ez,” you cut him off in a biting whisper, lips kiss-swollen, hating how, if there had been literally any other person in the tent beside you, you might’ve taken him up on the offer, “I want to, I promise you that. But she’s a kid and I have limits—one of those limits is fucking in the same room as one.” You glared at him with half a heart, then leaned down to run the tip of your nose along the curve of his ear, smiling when he shivered, “I swear, once we get out of here I’ll make it up to you so many times you’ll forget your own name. You get first choice—however you want me, I’m yours to take.”

“Fuck—alright, I apologize for my eagerness,” he smiled, tilting his head to kiss your forehead.

“But,” you whispered, your heart racing as you glanced over to be sure Cee had fallen asleep before inching up to look back into his eyes. Fuck it, he deserved it. “If you stay quiet, I’ll take care of you right now.”

His eyebrows raised in deft interest at your offer.

“Will you let me take care of you, Sailor?”

Ezra would never admit it, and you’d never tease him about it because it made you feel some kind of way—but he fucking adored when you used his callsign. You were his siren, after all. Only made sense for him to draw to you like a dying man at sea when you called for him. You used it rarely aside from in the field, opting for your preferred chatterbox—because he was more that than anything else—so it came as a treat when you decided to pull it from your bag of tricks.

“I can hardly refuse such a tempting offer.”

“Quiet, though,” you reminded him, tiptoeing your fingers across his chest and tugging the waistband of his pants and his underwear down. Just enough to spring his cock free, which was already hard and leaking for you.

Fuck, he was such a gorgeous sight, and you couldn’t help the urge to cup his balls and nudge them free too, to admire every glorious inch of him.

Spreading your fingers out over his groin through the coarse curls gone wild with mistreatment, you paid extra attention to the white patch of hair ghosting over the base of his cock and spreading out near his abdomen before stopping abruptly on the left and diverging back down into dark brown. You remember when you’d first noticed it and had all but squealed in delight.

Every bit of him was a pleasant surprise, just as you’d found yourself more than eager to let him ruin you for anybody else with the sheer size of him.

Nobody fucked you like they were dying and you were salvation; nobody but him. And shit, did he tear you open. As if he’d carved a space inside of you just for him, each time he’d leave you with a hollow ache that only he could sate.

“Baby,” you purred in a whisper, kissing his hipbone and then leaning up to wrap your hand around the girth of him, rubbing your thumb over the weeping red of the head, “You’re so pretty for me like this.” Forever a glutton for compliments, he whimpered his soft appreciation and you hushed him accordingly. He was so thick, so big that you struggled to touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, so long that if you had planned to swallow him down tonight, you would’ve been needing your hand to help. But tonight you could not risk the absolutely filthy noise of you gagging on him; he’d likely cum faster and in less time to worry about waking up a certain tentmate, but you wanted to watch every muscle in his face twitch, wanted to see him take his pleasure unobstructed by your tears. This way was quieter.

So with that thought in mind, you shifted to straddle one of his thighs so you could watch him without tiring your hand in an awkward position. Then you let a string of spit drool down and over him and you gave him a twist and then more, sharp and sudden and fast in your movements as opposed to the slow, appreciative way you’d unsheathed him.

Ezra hissed out a curse, bucking up into your hand, “Shit, darlin’—“

Arching an eyebrow, you halted your work on him immediately. His pulse beat through the throbbing vein jutting out

“What did I tell you?” you snapped. With your free hand you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his neck, feeling the column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. Wide brown eyes looked up at you, a tinge of amusement in their stare.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” you asked in a low rasp, tightening your grip on his neck and giving him a little shake before going slack again, “I don’t wanna hear a single word come outta that pretty-boy mouth. If I do, I’m blue-balling you. Fair?”

Ezra nodded, his gorgeous fat mouth blessedly shut for once.

“Good boy,” you cooed, kissing him before forcing his jaw open and spitting in his mouth. It would’ve been cruel but you meant it so affectionately, and his gentle moan told you he was more than willing to accept it.

You felt his cock twitch beneath your fingers and you simpered, giving a little shimmy of your shoulders in appreciation.

Controlling this stubborn man, resorting him to silence made you feel powerful. It made you feel respected, worshipped; if the man who never shut up and always called the shots would gladly take the backseat and grant you the power to take charge, that meant more than you could wish for.

So you resumed pumping his cock, working him with both hands and then switching to hold onto his throat again before going back to two hands. The act still made quite some noise—filthy and wet and sloppy—but at this point you were less concerned about it than you had been prior. When you decided, despite his tip dripping precum, to spit down onto him again for the fun of it and twist him with a gentle tug, he couldn’t stop the whine that left him even with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It had you darting to clamp over his mouth, shooting daggers down at him as he stared up with a silent apology in his eyes, one you might have taken as genuine if not for the way the brown of his irises had disappeared into black, blown out with lust and glassy with pleasure.

“If you’re gonna cum, let me know so you can do it in my mouth. I just cleaned you up and I’m not doing it again.”

The last bit came out harsher than you meant but he took it all the same, biting back a grunt in the form of a sharp exhale as he twitched violently in your hand. Yeah, he didn’t really need to let you know when he was about to blow; you knew him too well. At that, you took it upon yourself to remove your hand from his mouth in favor of scooting to lean down and put your mouth over his angry, swollen tip, flinching at the way the frame creaked but ignoring it and opting to swirl your tongue over him instead.

“There it is,” you whispered with an arguably evil smile—quickly, before pulling him back into the heat of your mouth, resuming your work and grunting when he bucked up into your mouth, chasing the high you were drawing out of him.

Ezra came with a muffled, broken sob, his face buried in his arm as he bit down on his bicep, flexing and squeezing his fingers. A thick stream of his cum hit the roof of your mouth and you indulged him, taking him in further so you could swallow everything he gave you. Ropes and ropes and ropes of cum, like he hadn’t let himself get off in so long, like he’d been saving all of it for you. The thought made you whine around him, and you pulled off when he finished, flashing him your dripping tongue with his spend still on it and drawing it back in before any of it could spill.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighed, letting out a quiet, breathy laugh as he tugged on the front of your shirt to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue.

This time when you pulled back and smiled, you granted him a toothy grin, goofy and knowing. It took you a minute not to giggle like a little kid as you carded your fingers through his hair. He grinned right back, still catching his breath. To you, he was gorgeous, inside and out, flaws and all. You wanted to fuck him right then. You wanted to make love to him, to let him fill you entirely and to sob into his mouth, showing him everything you couldn’t tell him.

“Get some sleep,” you settled on instead, slipping off the cot with little grace after replacing the waistband of his pants, “We head out early tomorrow.”

“Hey now, what about you?” Ezra asked, brows drawn together in concern that you wouldn’t find the same enjoyment he did.

“You’ll just owe me.” You winked then, and gave him one last kiss, which he hummed into with a great appreciative rumble.

Then you pressed your forehead into his, “Mine—you’re mine. Never leave me again or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself. You’re everything.”

Because he was.

“Nothing without you.”

That was his response, always always always. To hear it again pricked tears in your eyes, so much so you squeezed them shut.

And once again, you caught yourself wanting to say it. This time it had ghosted in your throat, almost making it into the curve of your mouth for you to hold its shape and give voice to a thought. But you stopped it before it could get far. Those three words, the same ones that now haunted you since you’d decided to indulge in every reminiscence involving them. Somehow he had come back to you, a feat which could not be commended enough, but now you ached for him—yearned for him even stronger than if he had well and truly died.

As you settled down onto the floor beside him, those three torturous words surfaced into a memory. The one that, among other fears, made you ever so hesitant to admit just how much you loved him.

————————————

“—In that vein, I don’t find myself in particular need of a great, star-shattering love story. If love is all-encompassing, I can do without the obstacle. Romanticizing my life and its quarrels is satisfaction enough.”

You didn’t know why you were still listening. You just knew that if Ezra kept it up, you’d find a way out of this cell just to break into his and strangle him. Anything to get him to shut the hell up. Banging your head methodically against the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t even try to hold back your groan of displeasure as he rambled on.

“Now, don’t doubt my skill in worship. I have plenty of practice in the art of copulation”—you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face—“To say I haven’t affixed my interests on one soul or another at some point in time would ordain me a liar. I simply prefer to remain lovers in action…and not in name nor feeling. Companionship…yes, it’s something we all yearn for. It can’t be helped. A warm body, a brain to pick. All wonderful facets to enjoy for the sake of one’s own baser desiderata. But—“

“Shut up,” you bit out through gritted teeth, tugging at the roots of your hair when he kept going and you had to repeat yourself, “Shut up, you goddamned chatterbox. I don’t give a fuck about your love life. Why are you even talking about this?”

A brief silence occupied the space, as if he was thoroughly perplexed by your outburst. Then he let out a huffed laugh, amused.

“You inquired about the specifics of my occupation, little thorn.”

Every time he used that nickname for you—the thorn in my side—it made you bristle. Especially when he used it almost affectionately, soothingly, full of calm and charm that had you balling your fists and pricking the skin of your palms with your fingernails. You despised him, and he treated your existence as a joke, or as a little pet he would grab from its cage and admire before tossing it back and neglecting it until he deemed its presence acceptable again. Everything was funny. Everything could be laughed at. Sometimes you didn’t mind when the guards came to beat him bloody; it made him shut up, whether from pain or because he had passed out.

“Prospecting has nothing to do with love,” you snapped, shoulders tense despite the ache in your body. If these fuckers holding you captive didn’t kill you, the stress of surviving next to this fucker surely would.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, suddenly serious, “Love for others, at least. Love for the dig, love for the hunt and the adventure—that’s a different narrative altogether. Which is why I deemed it appropriate to explain such measures. The lifestyle I settled for is no small undertaking. It comes with sacrifice.”

His condescension was unintentional but still stabbed and poked at you like keepers at a circus.

————————————

It comes with sacrifice. That it did.

That long-ago night haunted you to this day.

But Ezra had his mind focused on softer dreams as he broke you from your self-destruction once more.

“Nights like these make me keen to hear you sing for me again,” he lilted out through the dark, a reminiscent simper pulling at his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he shifted to look down at you, “The melody of your voice haunts the halls of my midnight reveries. But it is such a sweet possession—as though I willed a ghost to enchant me with her gift. A siren indeed. Lure me into the sea of your deception, try to pull me under like the rest of them. But not me. No…not me—I float like driftwood in the breeze…follow the tides of your affection. Somehow I remain unscathed, and you lap at me in gentle waves.”

“Such powerful words from a man who should be asleep,” you chuckled quietly, pressing your lips to the back of his hand where you held onto it now, fingers laced.

“I am but a vendor of poetry. And you, a weaver of melody. Sing for me, siren,” he murmured, his voice thick with the drowsy pull of lassitude. He hadn’t asked that of you in so long you had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear it. Almost. And you would have agreed to it, but—

“No, the girl, she—“

“I don’t mind,” Cee interrupted, quiet and soft. It surprised you; you thought she had fallen asleep—you didn’t want to wake her with your singing. And then you were—

Shit. You sincerely hoped she had just woken up due to Ezra’s long-winded soliloquy about your singing, and hadn’t heard anything else beyond that. Mm, no. You think she would’ve said something about how fucking gross it was. Or pulled a thrower on you.

“As well you shouldn’t,” Ezra chuckled, turning his head to grin at the girl where she had turned to face him on the opposite cot, “She sings like Kevva strung her throat with gold. Or the very strings of a harp.”

You blushed and ducked your head into your shoulder, embarrassed by his flattery. Looked to him and found his honey-dark eyes drinking you in from above, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he flattened his palm over your chest and rubbed it affectionately. “What would you like to hear?” you asked, running a hand over your hair and shifting on the floor to calm your nerves.

It was just Ez.

…and a girl who harbored a teen angst bigger than ten moons; fuck if you wanted her to judge you.

“Whatever tickles your fancy,” he replied, his grin wider now that you’d agreed, “You know I’m not particular to any one hymn—I find myself enraptured by it all.”

“Okay.” You pondered for a moment before settling on one of your favorites.

Then you sang.

Quietly, nervously at first in an unpracticed rasp, then growing more steady and mellow and soft.

Some swirling folk melody from your childhood in your native tongue, one you’d never forget even if someday you lost your memory. A lullaby for village children; a lilting work song for the women to hum when laundering clothes at the stream, soothing the babies strapped to their backs or their chests or both.

It told the story of a curious young girl who loved the stillness of the ocean, found peace in its silky depths. She liked the silence so much that she would spend hours beneath the water, training to hold her breath and exploring the creatures of the reef and listening to the wavering silence.

Until one humming summer night she swam so deep the water turned black. She was scared she wouldn’t be able find her way back home but she reveled in the quiet—the quiet that not even the nighttime forest could provide, nor the village when the hunters and scavengers left for work. It was then that she saw a light shining from the deep, and decided to chase it.

Down, down, down.

And down. Until the light became so bright it surrounded her, seeped into her until she did not know where she began and it ended. No pain, no fear surrounded her. Just a sense of calm, and peace.

And she became the moon, the biggest one in the sky. The silence up there was incomparable.

The song was meant as a warning to the village children not to wander too far from the town and somehow find themselves in the cove breaching the outer mountain range. A warning to stay away, else you’d become one of the many moons in the sky, never to return to your family and the life you loved.

But you’d always found it more compelling than that, more meaningful, because the story originated from a similar legend of the moon goddess your village worshipped, the deity of the biggest satellite in your skies. The minor difference came in the detail that she chose to become the Great Moon after divine conversation instead of chasing a light down into the deep on a whim. And there was a ceremony held to initiate her transition into a celestial body.

When you’d wrapped up the lullaby you found yourself more at peace than you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t like to think about your planet, nor your village, nor the tragedies that occurred there. But this memory was a happy one, filled with sleepy eyes and chubby fingers grabbing onto mothers’ cloaks, and getting tucked into warm soft blankets by a fireplace.

“Sweet siren,” Ezra whispered in a drowsy slur, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he turned to rest on his back, “Never fail to soothe me even when ’m in utmost anguish.”

And with that, he left you in silence, and you knew he wasn’t far from sleep.

By the time his breath evened out, you felt your eyes drooping.

Fuck, you were exhausted.

This spin had been arguably more eventful than any you’d had in a long while, and it didn’t occur to you that you could be tired when you’d hardly done much until the action rolled in.

The floor was actually not half bad, given that you laid on the tarp that absorbed heat but quickly cooled when you moved. The nights here got cold, surprisingly. But Ezra’s hand hanging down and resting across your chest felt so good. The weight of him, the heat of him, it grounded you. You circled patterns into his upturned palm until you became too sleepy for that, settling on threading your fingers with his and feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips.

How dare he think you’d care for him less with only one arm? If anything, it showed his perseverance, his will to move forward and make hard decisions. Only something a man with determination could do.

He felt so warm and sure—steady. He was safe now that he had come back. You felt the inky black of sleep begin to wash over you as organized thought became jumbled feeling.

You didn’t have to worry anymore, not about his whereabouts. Everything was alright. It was as good as it had been in quite a while.

Everything would be alright, you could just…

Just…

“I wish my parents had loved each other like that,” Cee murmured in the quiet dark of the tent, rendering you wide awake with a jolt, as if someone had plunged a shot of adrenaline into your chest.

“They separate?” you managed, knowing it came out strange but not wanting to confirm or deny anything about you and Ezra. The silence that greeted you implied that she had had no intention of you hearing it. But she spoke regardless.

“No,” she scoffed, then went quiet for a moment, “My mom died when I was little. And I can’t remember what they were like together. We were always working so there wasn’t a lot of time for love between them.”  

Oh. An orphan. It softened you a little more for her, made you more sympathetic to the fact that Ezra had killed her last living parent. You were an orphan too. So was he.

“We’re all missing parts of our family in some way or another. People with worldly attachments don’t usually sign up for this level of intensity. Not the strays, anyhow.”

“But you have each other,” she insisted.

“By chance alone. We didn’t start off liking each other. And we’re not…married, or anything.”

The last bit came out strangled—you’d never…said something like that aloud.

You and Ezra, married? It was odd, to say the least. You never thought of yourself as one to desire marriage in any respect—ceremonial, legal, the like. It just didn’t sit well with you. Too many complications, a lot of governing body involvement that you didn’t care for.

And Ezra…he wasn’t too fond of it either. But not because he didn’t want it, that much he’d admitted to you one night after admitting the complications of his feelings on his love life, ones that somewhat contradicted the first time he told you about it all; he couldn’t have it, he’d never let himself believe even a fraction of him deserved it. The life of a floater—and sure, just as Cee’s parents had prospected and been married (you assumed) and had a kid, many others did the same. But then you supposed it ended with kids like Cee, and she was lucky to not lay dead next to her idiot father, or trapped and sold as a body in the Dark-Spawn Trades. Lucky Ezra wasn’t filthy and depraved, lucky you were once young and scared like her and so took it upon yourself to keep her in your sights for now.

“How’d you meet?”

A chuckle bubbled out of you as you sat up and ran your fingers through Ezra’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall in even strokes, thinking back on that night so long ago.

“Stealing supplies from the same drop company. Two feral dogs fighting over who deserved it more. We bickered and threatened so much we lost track of time and made a mess and a ruckus and got caught.” A smile threatened to break your features and you let it, for just a moment. It faded as you recalled your awful encounter, “Captured, tortured for information because they thought we worked for a rival mining company. They wanted the locations of dig-sites we didn’t have, mining techniques we didn’t know. When he brought up the Wastes earlier…that’s what he meant. Surprised we didn’t die, but they really thought we were valuable or something.”

You gave yourself a minute before continuing. In a panic, you rubbed circles over the tattoo on the web of Ezra’s hand between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ground yourself as wicked, blood-specked memories flooded your head.

Deep breath. You’re safe, he’s here. This will be good to get off your chest. You’ve never spelled it out to anyone before. Nobody’s ever asked. Maybe this girl is a gift from the universe, maybe she was sent here to give you space to heal. Deep breath. You’re safe. He’s here.

You eventually pressed the back of his limp hand to your cheek, and found your voice once more. You didn’t need to worry about waking him; once he conked out into REM sleep it took a freight train to wake him up. At least, when he was with you he always slept deeper. He’d told you one night; how it helped to have you there, like you dragged all the bad memories and nightmares away, pulling them so far out of reach he only found thoughtless, worry-free sleep.

“Hearing someone’s screams from the other side of a cell wall makes you more susceptible to care about them. A bonding experience, so to speak. He’d talk to me for hours on the nights they made us sit and anticipate another session. Recited poetry, recalled stories from his time as a prospector as an escape from our reality. I would sing for him, when we knew the guards had left. It was how we got to know each other. It’s—that’s why he calls me his siren. The reason I call him a chatterbox, among other obvious explanation.”

“How’d you get out?” Cee asked, resting her cheek on her hands as she laid on her side, watching you with keen interest.

“Killed them,” you rasped, not wanting to go into the gory details, “Every single one.”

For nights you had laid awake, haunted by memories of blood staining your only pair of clothes, blood splattering into your mouth, chunks of brain matter on Ezra’s gloves as he dragged you through a maze of tents and established buildings, viscera on your recovered suit, the way you’d had to swallow bile back down your esophagus at the sight of all the lives you’d taken. But you had to do it; it’s what you told yourself when the images would replay every time you closed your eyes.

Vengeance, necessity, paired with Ezra’s seemingly insatiable bloodlust—and your own. Your own shameful desire to incite violence, one you bred in the early years of your youth and had stuffed away until needed.

But you hadn’t been able to deny that, when Ezra shot a man who’d pinned you to the ground and then finished him off with a knife spurting blood out his neck, it stirred your blood something wild. Hearing him panting through the transmitter, grunts and curses as he tore through humans and humanoids and alien creatures alike right beside you. Hearing him call out targets, watching your six, taking single-word direction from you when you did the same.

They worked like a well-oiled machine, like you two had never not known the other. And he was sloppy in his technique, grounded more in brute force than strategy—but you made up for that in quick, evasive maneuvers and stealth. Both of you had near-perfect aim and could work around the clunky gear of your suits.

Messy—pools of blood, the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage crushed beneath your hands and your feet and your knife and whatever other weapon you scavenged along the way.

It felt like a ritual. A baptism of carnage that ensured neither one of you could live without the other.

So of course, when it all was over and the last vertebra snapped—

—there had been filthy, unhinged, surely unsanitary, bio-hazardous fucking in a tent surrounded by carnage.

Fucking in way you could only describe as feral.

Unrestrained.

Hot, Kevva’s saints was it brutally hot and so needy—but also so, so tender.

Full of soft emotion. Unspoken, even for Ezra’s standards. Almost loving.

Your aching bodies, exhausted and weak and battered, dragged lazily against one another once both of you had ceased the initial writhing pace of passion and the adrenaline ebbed. It tasted tinny like blood and musky like spit and salty with sweat and tears, and if nothing more, it was real. Whispering about how fuck, they’d made it and god, they were on the same level, we made it, baby—can’t live without you, I need you I need you I need you—

That day was quite possibly your favorite memory as well as one of your darkest. The day that you knew, in the charred, most twisted part of you, that you’d follow this man to the ends of every planet, to the far reaches of the universe—and he’d very well do the same.

Of course, you shared none of that with Cee.

“We took down the main base of the entire company. They were small but well-endowed. Got to transfer points into our accounts and sort through the mining equipment and the food,” you offered instead after a long bout of silence, “And the spoils of their labor. We were rich, could have retired early.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You debated whether to lie or tell her the truth, deciding on the latter. This girl wasn’t a threat, she genuinely wanted to know. “Ezra and I have—had a certain…interest in finding thrill wherever we can.”

Cee quirked an eyebrow, and you elaborated, “It’s not something to romanticize, we certainly weren’t smart about our spending. Gambling, drugs, slingshot scooter racing, smuggled creature ring-fights. The risk makes winning worth it. It was addicting. We earned a lot. Uncountable amounts of money. But we spent it all and then spent more. Pulled stunts that not even the most daring would try. Heists, intel-theft for enemies of certain people. We got caught up in it. Eventually drowned in a swamp of debt and unrequited favors. Got put on watchlists by the head crime syndicate and peace officers alike in the Core Worlds because we got cocky. Sloppy. So many people want our heads on a stake that we’d be better off dying out here. It’d be ironic, given the executions we deserve.”

You shuddered at the thought of Karolclan and their unusual procedures for punishment. They wanted you the most—you owed them the most. Them and Omni-Five. But Karolclan was decidedly worse.

“Why are you still mining? Wouldn’t it be easier to hide somewhere less dangerous?”

“We have debts to pay, bird,” you sighed, fond of the nickname Ezra gave her as it fit her well, “It’s the only honest work we can get without a biotracker recognizing our scans or someone realizing that the burner names and scouting codes we give them are bullshit. We work alone—no drop company, no mining corps. Until we can get our names cleared and our bio-scans off the watchlist, we can’t do shit else.”

If nothing more, Karolclan did allow debt payoff. But only if you could evade their capture, and only if you had the means to satisfy compounded interest. They were brutal, ruthless.

“He said you had a crew…and a ship…before you ended up stranded.”

“We did. A group of people like us. But you can imagine that a group of outlaws don’t always see eye to eye—buncha hotheaded criminals. Fought over aurelac, argued over fair shares, resources, everything.”

That wasn’t the whole story.

It started as a dispute over aurelac, but had quickly turned into a spat against Ezra, why he had so many successful harvests and surely he was stealing or cheating, how it wasn’t fair that you two were attached at the hip and didn’t section off when you split into groups to cover more land. In the heat of argument and the desperation of man, that had morphed into threats against you—Why don’t you fucking share her, Ezra? We all have needs and she’s barely good at the dig-sites. Put her to use somewhere else or we’ll find a use for her, and that devolved into Might take her right from under you if you don’t watch yourself, don’t be surprised if you hear her struggle tonight.

You had gotten used to the crude commentary, the snickers and wolf-whistles when you bent over, and if they had tried to somehow steal you away in the night, they’d have been reminded that you slept fully armed and showed no mercy to anyone who touched you unless they knew just where to start—and only one person did.

But that…that had not gone over well with him. It ended before you even knew what he did, and pretty soon you had a dead crewmate spilling blood over your boots while the familiar sound of throwers charging up rang in your ears, all of them pointed at the man panting beside you. The only one from the group to live and remain on the Green had been Two, and honestly you were never fond of them but weren’t surprised when they helped you and Ezra take the heat off your backs—they always teamed up with you two and they were good at what they did. It was a shame they were gone—despite their silence and threatening demeanor and sometimes uncalculated moves in a plan, they never made a move to harm either of you; they just wanted to harvest and get out like you did. Better them than Ezra, though. You’d have genuinely lost your mind if they had shown up in his stead.

“Did you kill the crew too?”

“Only a few,” you said honestly, “The others left us stranded when they realized we’d kill them next. Number Two was our only ally. Now they’re dead.”

You laid back down and put Ezra’s hand across your chest again, “Get some rest now. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. And if you choose to kill him while we sleep—kill both of us.”

You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to say that, but revealing such a dark part of yourself to her convinced you that she’d plant a bolt in you or Ezra’s head and run. Ezra was the more likely target, given his history with the girl. It was irrational, for the most part; if she truly wanted him dead she would have let his wound kill him. Or she would have shot him sooner. But you couldn’t be too sure.

And you’d sooner die than wake up to him cold next to you.

#ezra (prospect) #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #anya writes #ohhhh boy! a second installment #pedrostories #ezra smut #cacoethes

[cancerjupiter]

aquarius moon: observations

This placement of the Moon overemphasizes friendliness, humanitarianism and kindness. Your need for emotional independence can lead to loneliness and difficulty with emotional relationships; you may brush these off with indifference. Your feeling nature can be cold because you don’t understand the emotional needs of someone else. You act warm and friendly but not especially intimate.

You likely see your mother as a friend. She raised you to stand on your own feet; she is a humanitarian and not very conservative in her approach.

The power of the Moon is muted in this sign, the greatest effect being to reduce the feeling element from the emotions. Inwardly you are detached, independent and rather cool. Although controlled and bottled up at times, you like others around you to show that they need and want you. 

You have a strong sense of self which leads you to take a calculated risk in a career or even in a relationship. Although sensible, you are not over-cautious; therefore, you accept most of life's challenges whether they put your finances or your feelings at risk. This ability to inwardly weigh and measure could confuse to those who fall in love with you because, although you discuss feelings in an articulate manner, one wonders just how much you can actually actually feel.

Your inner nature is off beat. Like Aquarius suns, you are probably educationally minded and will choose a career where you can stretch your mind and also broaden the minds of others. 

You are kind, helpful and humanitarian, but this may be directed more towards the world than those closest to you. Although you are helpful in practical ways, there could be embarrassment and helplessness when you’re faced by other people's emotional pain. You are afraid that if you allow people to latch themselves on to you they will drain you or, worse, bore you.

Being strongly independent, you prefer to cope alone with your problems, however self-destructive this may be. You could reject help in case it makes you look weak and incapable. You may even view help as interference. You're not keen on people who try to own or manipulate you, although you can be adept at manipulating others. 

I noticed some of you really enjoy cooking by yourselves, though your favorite thing is seeing others eat the stuff you make.

You can take any amount of chaos going on at work, but you need peace in your home, where you can be in control of your own environment (creating chaos for others lol). You enjoy visitors but don't appreciate people who dump themselves on you. Many of you are clever and handy around the house.

Your memory is strangely selective, easily recalling things you find interesting but 'tuning out' the irrelevant details. However, you don't run from really important issues, as you have high standards of honesty.  You really need a creative or useful outlet, or you can become bored, depressed or aloof.

Some of you are lazy and too easygoing, especially if there are planets in Libra on your birth chart; yet others can be truly eccentric, especially if there are other planets in Aquarius. Mostly, criticism brushes off you. You have a strong ego, and you feel that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, even opinions of you. You are not likely to change in the face of criticism anyway lol

In close relationships, you are kind and passionate; you could be rather romantic. Aquarius being a fixed sign suggests that you don't easily walk away from situations. You may stay in the same house, the same job, or the same relationship long after when you should move on. However, if the day comes when you move on, you do so decisively, looking mentally forward rather than backward.

If you become bored with your partner, you may look outside the relationship for change and excitement. Your famous Aquarian detachment may allow you to work out logically what would be for the best. You need a stimulating partner. Without shared interests, you would gravitate towards interests of your own, and this would begin allowing the marriage to drift into failure. You can be strangely blind to both the needs and the feelings of those you love. You may never really get to know them on a deep level.

You don’t seem keen to have a large family, but the relationship between lunar Aquarian parents and their children is usually very good. There is a natural sensitivity to the needs of children, and you would offer help without making unfair demands or smothering them. It is just possible that you could expect too much of a shy child, but mostly you make a good parent. 

People with fixed Moon signs can cope with a lot. It would take a great deal for you to break up a relationship. In relationships, as in all things, you need freedom and independence, and may show this by being deliberately forgetful, erratic and hard to pin down. If your partner started laying the law down to you and restricting your movements, your first impulse would be to get out of the relationship.

You like sex for its own sake, but are much happier when it’s in a loving relationship. You can adapt sexually to various partners and, personally, my best lover had this moon placement lol.

Your temper can be a problem when you’re young; but later you learn to sit back and control it. However, if hurt, you can wound verbally. There may be a lack of adaptability in your attitude to others. You will only go as far in order to fit in with their wishes. You think that other people ought to take or leave you just as you are. 

A lively person who has many outside interests would attract you; if they have the same sense of humour and look nice, even better. Lunar Aquarians of both sexes prefer an equal partnership, and will do all they can to promote the interests and job of the other, even trying to help the partner enjoy their hobbies. 

You take work seriously, and don't enjoy changing jobs, preferring to find a career into which you can settle. You are interested in ideas and willing to learn; therefore, you likely do well at school and continue to learn later on. You prefer doing something that’s useful for everyone.

You had a good childhood, mostly. At least your practical needs were certainly attended to, even if there is a poor background.

Your mother may have been a busy woman or poured her energies into some personal interest. Some of you will have had the kind of mother who did little outside the home, making you feel that families are definitely better off when the mother has outside interests. Some Aqua moons had religion shoved down their throats, putting them off it for the rest of their lives, at least formally.

It is possible that you loved your father, but lowkey considered him weak. He may have had poor health. Mother was the more organized and capable parent, especially as far as money is concerned. You probably come from an average family of two or three children, and are the older or more capable one of the group, or of a different gender than the others. They taught you not to make scenes or allow your emotions to annoy others. You could never feel very close to your parents. People who have the Moon in Air signs tend to be rather emotionally self-contained, though, and you may just have been born that way.

#astrology #moon signs #aquarius moon #moon in aquarius #could apply to sun/rising

[aspoonofsugar]

Emerald + Mercury = Cinder

BEGINNING OF THE END = MIDNIGHT

The episodes Beginning of the End and Midnight can be seen as complementary.

Both share a similar structure with the first part telling Cinder’s story and the second part showing how past events are influencing the present. At the same time, they show the links among Cinder, Emerald and Mercury and explore their changing dynamic.

In Beginning of the End it is shown how they came together and we reach the climax of their cooperation. The Fall of Beacon is when the trio is at its strongest. It is only because of their coordination and teamwork that the plan succeeds. In Midnight instead we are shown the beginning of their separation.

For different reasons (fears and wishes) both Mercury and Emerald are about to leave Cinder. Mercury already has and it is probable Emerald will soon.

The two episodes also give us two opposite and complementary visions of Cinder.

In Beginning of the End, we have the way Cinder wants to appear:

Cinder: (stepping forward slowly, glass anklet shifting with her footsteps) I've already told you. And I don't like repeating myself.

Salem: I would like to think I have shown a great deal of patience over my many years walking Remnant. But I do hate repeating myself.

Mercury: Is this how you treat a patient? (Emerald reaches over and twists the screwdriver in his leg, causing him to wince) Ah, too tight!

Cinder: Enough. Our Mercury put on a wonderful show. He was quite brave.

Salem: Do you find such malignance necessary?

Watts: I apologize, ma'am. I'm not particularly fond of failure.

Salem: Then I see no reason for your cruelty towards young Cinder. She's become our Fall Maiden, destroyed Beacon Tower, and most importantly, killed dear Ozpin. So I'm curious, to what failures are you referring?

In Midnight we see who she really is. Moreover, it becomes more and more clear that her imitation of Salem is different from the original:

Salem: I will tell you when and where you are needed.

Cinder: Both of you, get out. I’ll let you know when you’re needed next.

Mercury: Yeah about that, Salem’s got other plans for me. I’m not gonna be taking orders from you anymore.

Why is this being shown through her interactions with Emerald and Mercury? Why are they important for Cinder’s character?

First of all, Mercury and Emerald are Cinder’s kids, at least narratively speaking:

Roman: Oh, look! She sent the kids again! This is turning out just like the divorce!

Roman calls them so when they first appear and later on several characters refer to them as kids in relation to Cinder.

Raven (about Emerald and Mercury): Two children you've tricked into following you.

Tyrian: (chuckles as he slowly walks toward Emerald) Careful, little girl. Cinder isn't here to protect you anymore.

Tyrian (mocking Mercury): Oh yes, the world is mean, and I'm a big, bad man now just like the others.

Salem (to Emerald): Speak, child.

In short, they are meant to be the last link in a chain of abuse that starts with Salem, goes on with Cinder and finally arrives to them.

At the same time, as the title says Mercury + Emerald = Cinder because they are nothing more than parts of Cinder herself, both in their backgrounds and in their personalities.

CINDER + “HUNGER” = EMERALD

Cinder: Follow me, and you'll never be hungry again.

Cinder: It's... an emptiness. It burns. Like hunger. I like it.

In Beginning of the End Emerald and Cinder are shown to share a hunger motif.

Emerald is presented as a street rat who survives through stealing. She is poor and starved, so she accepts Cinder’s offer to be taken care of and to be given food. That said, it is clear that other than food what Emerald is truly starving for is love:

Emerald: I just... (sighs) Cinder was the only family I ever had. She cared about me, taught me things...

I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one

Similarly, Cinder too is shown to be hungry. More specifically, she is hungry for power:

Cinder: I want to be powerful.

It is meaningful that in the episode where Cinder tells Emerald she won’t have to starve anymore, she herself is starving. This contradiction conveys the tragedy of Cinder’s character aka a traumatized girl taking in a kid similar to her and becoming like her past parental figures.

As a matter of fact Emerald and Cinder’s first meeting has parallels with Cinder meeting both Madame and Rhodes.

When Cinder meets Madame she asks for food, but is negated it:

And she is later shown to have survived through leftovers.

In contrast, food is the first thing Cinder offers Emerald, who she recognizes as a girl who has survived in poverty, like her.

In their first meeting, Cinder also treats Emerald pretty much like Rhodes treated her. Both discover a young girl, who has just committed a theft and confront her. However, instead of punishing the girl, they both offer to be the girl’s mentor and become her idol.

As a matter of fact both Cinder and Emerald are shown to idolize their saviors to the point that both girls try to look like them by changing their hair/clothes:

So, it would superficially seem that Cinder is acting like Rhodes and in the opposite way of Madame. However, the reality is far more complex. Deep down, Cinder is acting like her adoptive mother because she is targeting a girl and thinking about how she can weaponize her. At the same time, there is a key difference between her behaviour and Rhodes’s. Rhodes had Cinder give the sword back, while Cinder never stopped Emerald from stealing. If anything, she encouraged her criminal activities changing her from a thief to a terrorist. In other words, Cinder radicalized Emerald.

This is once again linked to the motif of hunger both girls share:

Cinder: You Atlas elites are all the same! You think hoarding power means you'll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier.

Cinder’s trauma is rooted in the unfairness of the world. She was made to starve simply because she was born in the wrong situation and society completely failed her.

What is more, when Rhodes refuses Cinder as well, she too refuses his vision of the world. Rhodes, pretty much like the Prince of the original fairy-tale, offers Cinder a way to social-climb. In the fairy-tale, Cinderella marries the prince and so becomes a princess in the end. Here, Rhodes is telling Cinder she can reach her own castle. Cinder can escape her misery and reach Atlas. However, this is seen as a lie by Cinder the moment he attacks her.

So, Cinder giving food to an orphan like her and trying to destroy the current order are both coherent with the idea that the world is unjust and needs to be changed. However, Cinder is using the same problems she criticizes to her advantage. What is more, she is exasperating them in order to fulfill her personal agenda, which is only about herself and her self-image.

Let’s see now, what do our two young thieves steal? What are they “hungry” for?

a) Emerald steals a ring:

Salesman: A beautiful ring... for a beautiful woman.

Interestingly, the ring itself might be a reference to the original story of Aladdin, which is apparently Emerald’s allusion.

In the original story Aladdin meets two jinns. The first one is in a ring and Aladdin uses it to save himself and to escape with the magic lamp, where a stronger jinn is. So it makes sense for Emerald to steal a ring (something she wishes) just to meet a woman that promises her she can have more (her personal jinn aka someone that can realize Emerald’s dreams).

Why does Emerald steal the ring?

It is possible she just wants to sell it in order to buy some food, but I like the idea that she steals it also because she wants some beauty (”a beautiful ring for a beautiful woman”) in the harsh and horrible world she lives in (“filth”).

b) Cinder steals a sword:

Like in Emerald’s case, the object of Cinder’s theft can be seen as part of her fairy-tale’s allusion.

As a matter of fact, in Cinder’s adaptation of Cinderella the swords are nothing, but her glass slippers.

This is made clear later on when Rhodes (both the Prince and the Fairy Godmother) gives Cinder the first sword. It is meant to be a prize on his part. He is showing Cinder she does not need to steal it anymore because she has gained it. Moreover,  weapons are said to be extensions of a person by Ruby, so it makes sense that the slipper of the original Cinderella becomes a sword in this version. It fits the personality of our Cinder, a fiery young girl, who wants to become a huntress.

Finally, since Cinder’s story uses both inversion and deconstruction when adapting the fairy-tale, it is interesting that in the end the Prince refuses to give Cinder the other sword (slipper) and Cinder takes it by force:

In this way, Cinder goes back to stealing, which was what Rhodes had originally tried to avoid.

Why does Cinder steal the sword in the first place?

She steals something to defend herself with and to hurt her tormentors. Violence is rooted in Cinder’s first theft.

In short, Emerald wants something beautiful, while Cinder wants something powerful.

This difference is coherent with their respective semblances since Emerald creates illusions, while Cinder is able to overheat objects, so that she can create explosions and manipulate their shape. Both powers are representative of their user’s flaw and coping mechanism.

Emerald is a person who has reacted to her traumatic life by chasing illusory dreams of warmth and love. She tricks others and is tricked because she refuses to dispel her self-delusions.

Cinder is instead a person, who has been molded through violence just like the glass statues in the hotel. She is forced to endure until she can’t take it anymore and she explodes:

She herself is the Glass Unicorn, which shatters like Cinder’s innocence when too much pressure is added. Not only that, but Cinder too has started molding others to her will. She has been grooming both Emerald and Mercury for her own ego. This is why the name Scorching Caress fits her so well. It is because behind every act of care it is hidden an act of manipulation. And this happens because Cinder too has been treated utilitaristically and the only kind of love she experienced (Rhodes’s) was a “weak” love Cinder ended up perceiving as fake.

In short, Emerald and Cinder have different coping mechanisms and aim for different things. However, this does not mean that one is better or worse than the other. Their main difference is that right now Emerald is more in touch with her own needs and wishes. Ironically, the delusional girl has never lost sight of what she truly wants.

Emerald wants a family. She has been looking for it in the wrong places and she has been pursuing it in the wrong ways. However, Emerald has never forgotten what she is truly after and she is starting to realize she won’t have it, until she stays on Salem’s side:

Salem: It's important not to lose sight of what drives us: Love, justice, reverence... but the moment you put your desires before my own... they will be lost to you. This isn't a threat, this is simply the truth. The path to your desires is only found... through me.

Tyrian: Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh. I want to tell you both a little secret. Your question is all wrong. (laughs)

Emerald: What?

Tyrian: "What do you want from this?" Children, please, if you're not loving what you're doing, then you're in the wrong field.

Salem promises to fulfill Emerald’s wishes, but Tyrian has already told her that pursuing a wish while working for Salem is useless. Emerald is starting to realize it and this is why she will probably leave.

Cinder has instead forgotten what she originally wanted:

Cinder: Like you? You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want.

Cinder’s original wish was to be free and also to be loved, like Emerald:

You're no good I hope you know That your life is of no use And the truth is that No one's ever loved you

However, her being failed by the adults has twisted her wish into a desire for power.

This difference is well conveyed by Cinder and Emerald’s respective line in Beginning of the End:

Cinder: Follow me, and you'll never be hungry again.

Emerald: Thank you...

Cinder: The Huntsman severed the connection before it was complete. (pause) Yes. It's... an emptiness. It burns. Like hunger. I like it. (pause) Yes. I will claim what is ours. (pause) Thank you.

Emerald thanks Cinder because she won’t have to be hungry anymore, while Cinder thanks Salem because she is able to feel a hunger she likes.

This fits well with Cinder’s last words to the Madame:

Cinder: You’re right. Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

Emerald does not want to be hungry, while Cinder has been tricked into thinking that being hungry is the only way she can become not even “everything”, but just “something”.

CINDER + “EVERYTHING” = MERCURY

Cinder: Because of you, I am everything.

Mercury: So I got strong, but I never got it back! I've had to work harder than anyone to get where I am.

Cinder’s way of thinking is very similar to Mercury’s. Not only have they both endured their parents’ violence, but they have tried to give this violence meaning. It is because of Madame that Cinder has become “everything” and it is because of Marcus that Mercury has become “strong”. They must believe that it was not all for nothing and that the pain they felt made them stronger instead of weaker.

This is why Cinder thinks that deep down her “hunger” is good. It is because it drives her, but she ignores that it blinds her too.

This is why Mercury keeps going back to his father:

Mercury: Bad hair, used a scythe, and smelled like my dad after a long day. It was him.

Mercury: My dad always said... "if you need to know a city, ask the rats."

He mentions Marcus here and there and uses his teachings to solve problems. That is because those teachings must have some value, right? If they don’t, then Mercury’s life means nothing.

The nature of Cinder and Mercury’s foiling is clear in their first meeting:

Like in Emerald’s case, Cinder finding Mercury calls back a moment of her past.

In particular, it parallels the murder of her adoptive family and Rhodes discovering it. Mercury, just like young Cinder, has just killed an abusive parent and is confronted by a person after the fact.

Once again, Cinder seems to act differently from the adults that let her down. Rhodes was horrified and attacked her, while Cinder praises Mercury and has him join her group.

However, she is deep down acting as Rhodes did. As a matter of fact what truly hurt Cinder about Rhodes’s reaction is that he convinced her that she is irredeemable.

The whole scene plays with the Cinderella’s allusion and inverts it:

The clock strikes midnight and just like in the fairy-tale, the magic is over. In Cinderella, the protagonist goes back to her true self and runs away not to be seen. However, in the end, the prince recognizes her through her slipper (a symbol of her innate beauty and kindness) and marries her despite her humble condition.

In Cinder’s story, midnight is when she reveals a part of herself to Rhodes. She shows all the anger and violence she has been repressing. Cinder is not a “good victim” like the Cinderella of the fairy-tale and Rhodes can’t accept it. Not only that, but he negates Cinder’s dream to be free:

Rhodes: You can run, but you’re going to be running for the rest of your life.

Cinder: I won’t have to run now.

Rhodes: That’s all you’ll ever do.

This shatters Cinder’s hopes and self-perception. She internalizes that she will have to live in opposition to society because she is somehow “a bad person”. She is not a huntress (a princess), but a nobody who’ll have to use violence to survive. And she starts doing it immediately. As the song that starts playing implies, she has been awaken from the “fragile lies in bones”. However, this “truth has broken her soul in two”. This wound is still there and it has influenced, among other things, her reaction to Mercury.

When Cinder meets Mercury, she associates him to his father three times:

Cinder:  And you're his son. We saw your fight from the treeline. He's taught you well.

Mercury: Guess so.

Cinder: What's your name?

Mercury: Mercury.

Cinder: Mercury... Tell me, are you anything like your father?

In this way, she strengthens the connection Mercury tried to cut by killing Marcus. She is indirectly convincing him that he can’t be different from his father:

Tyrian: All you ever learned was pain and violence, and now you're too afraid to leave it. Such a tragedy.

Tyrian spells it out clearly for both Mercury and the audience. The only reason Mercury joined Cinder and is now working for Salem is that he is scared. Not only is he scared for his own survival, but he is scared about failing to be anything else than what his father taught him.

Cinder is deep down scared too by Salem and her group:

However, she too, like Mercury, has given up on being anything different than a criminal. She puts up a strong demeanor, but is actually really frail. She is like glass that has been bended through heat (violence) and can easily shatter.

Both Mercury and Cinder are two violent victims. This duality is kind of conveyed also through their names and colors.

“Cinder” is something that has only partially burnt. They tried to reduce her to ashes, but failed and a part of Cinder is still burning. This is why her main colors are black and red. She is black because she was burnt. She is red because she can burn. She was both hurt and has hurted others.

Similarly, “mercury” is a silver/gray metal and this is Mercury’s main color. This choice gains a possible deeper meaning when one considers that his aura is white and that his surname is Black. His aura can be seen as Mercury’s nature, while the surname “Black” is a symbol of the “nurture” he received. Mixing these two factors made so that Mercury turned out like he is (a gray character).

So, Cinder and Mercury have been shaped by their abuse and this is clearly visible on their bodies as well:

Cinder keeps the scar on her neck hidden, while Mercury has chosen to weaponize his missing legs.

It is telling that Mercury made of his own mechanical legs his weapon and that he mostly uses kicks to fight. It is another detail that shows how he is reducing both himself and his trauma to weapons he can use.

Cinder too shows how frail her sense of self is through weapons. It is not by chance that her current weapons are made of glass. In her backstory her swords were a symbol of her true self and of who she could become. Right now, they are nothing, but glass imitations of that ideal.

In short, Cinder and Mercury are both victims and murderers and they needed to have both sides of themselves accepted by their mentors.

However, Rhodes and Cinder failed to do so. They both refused the victimhood of the child in front of them, but they did so in opposite ways.

On one hand Rhodes refused Cinder’s violence and its reasons. He ignored his feelings of affection for the girl and steeled himself, so that he could fight her.

On the other hand Cinder gladly accepted Mercury’s violence and groomed him (Scorching caress), so that he would completely embrace it too.

The difference between Rhodes and Cinder lies in them having different reactions to the violence perpetrated by a child. However, they both fail to address the child’s pain. Rhodes does so because his vision is too black and white. Cinder does so because she is not even able to address her own pain.

However, both Cinder and Mercury need to address their own victimhood. Still, they refuse to do so because it would mean to accept their vulnerability. It is easier to convince themselves that they are the strong and violent ones. They are the ones others are scared of:

Mercury: We're the guys you should be afraid of.

But it is precisely because of this refusal that they are currently caught in dynamics similar to the ones they escaped:

Salem and Tyrian are nothing, but more dangerous versions of Madame and Marcus.

Salem treats Cinder as a pawn, rather than a person. She strips her of her personhood and agency and punishes her violently.

Tyrian is a killer, who enjoys his job like Marcus. He keeps invading Mercury’s personal space and threathens him. Moreover, his own semblance is similar to Marcus’s. It might not steal people’s semblances, but it still messes with their auras (with their very souls).

Cinder and Mercury struggle to recognize their own situations because to do so they must accept they are still stuck in their horrible childhoods:

Mercury: You may not like it here without Cinder, but I think I'm right where I'm supposed to be!

Cinder: I don’t serve anyone. And you wouldn’t either, if you were built that way.

However, this refusal is confusing them about what their true needs and wishes are:

Cinder: I want to be strong. I want to be feared. I want to be powerful.

Mercury: So what's in it for me?

In Beginning of the End both characters receive a line where they express some kind of wish.

As stated above, Cinder’s wish is not her original one, but a twisted version because she thinks she can’t reach her true desire.

When it comes to Mercury, he is not even sure of what he really wants. This is made clear even later on:

Emerald: I mean, there has to be something you want from this, right?

Mercury: Salem's promised us everything. We win this thing for her, we'll be top dogs in her new world. What more do you want?

He says Salem will give him all he wants, but he still fails to answer Emerald’s question. What is it that he wants?

He wants “everything” Cinder can offer him and later on “everything” Salem offers him. However, this is just another way to say he’ll take anything he is given, be it even something as basic as survival:

Mercury: Look, even if what he said was true, we can’t stop Salem. You told me yourself, Hazel tried. He failed and he got in line. Big guy’s not going to pick fights he can’t win, and neither should we.

This is because Mercury is so scared and hurt he can’t even start to think about what he wants.

Similarly, he goes back to a fatalistic vision of the world:

Mercury: Just made sense.

Emerald: It made sense?

Mercury: All my life, my father trained me to be a killer, an assassin like him. And then moments after I killed him, you two showed up looking for someone with my exact skills. Just felt like it was meant to be.

Let’s highlight that Cinder does the same:

Pyrrha: Do you believe in destiny?

Cinder: Yes.

Cinder: You know, Neo, someone once asked me if I believed in destiny. And I'm happy to say I still do.

Both Mercury and Cinder have convinced themselves that there is a “destiny” written for them and that they must play that role (the role of an assassin, the role of the Maiden). However, in this way they are just chaining themselves and accepting to Do As They Are Told by adults and mentor figures, who do not really care about them.

EMERALD + MERCURY = SOUL + BODY

I'm the one That was born in a nightmare a murderer's son Got no gun But I gleam like a blade and I'm harder than iron I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one Delusion I'll steal til your blind and defeat you from inside your mind

I'm the one That was ripped from the earth and exposed to the sun Overrun By the hate and the beatings defiled by a father I'm the one I'll race with your eyes and you'll never outrun Illusions Will conquer your mind and will make you fulfill my design

Mercury and Emerald’s song says several things about them.

First of all, it conveys the idea of two kids that feel let down by the world and have decided to retaliate. They mock their opponents and praise their respective abilities. However, it is clear from the verses above that it is just a mask to hide their pain.

This fits with them appearing for the first time in Best Day Ever where Ozpin says this:

Ozpin: And they will be, but right now they're still children. So why not let them play the part? After all, it isn't a role they'll have forever.

Differently from out protagonists (at the time), Emerald and Mercury are not playing the part of kids, but they are acting as big bad thugs to prove themselves to the people around them.

Secondly, the song is useful to explore Emerald and Mercury’s foiling.

a)

I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one Delusion I'll steal til your blind and defeat you from inside your mind

I'm the one That was ripped from the earth and exposed to the sun Overrun By the hate and the beatings defiled by a father

Emerald was never given love, while Mercury was given hate:

Mercury: I'm sorry you didn't have a mommy that loved you, but I had a father who hated me!

This difference is at the root of their different personalities.

On one hand Emerald attaches herself to the care Cinder gives her and takes it as the most love she’ll ever receive.

On the other hand Mercury is just content with not receiving hate and violence from the people around him.

Emerald is more open about her connections with others, while Mercury is more disillusioned. She is strongly driven by them, while Mercury is too scared to fully embrace them.

Emerald has clear wishes, but she is deluding herself about them. Mercury has fears that do not let him realize what he wants.

This difference stems from the different nature of their traumas. Who was never given anything accepts whatever they are offered, while who received pain thinks even nothing is better than more pain.

Still, we are currently seeing an inversion of this dynamic. Emerald’s wishes and their not overlapping with reality are making her doubtful. Mercury’s fear and survival instinct are making him refuse the truth:

Mercury: And all of this is pointless, anyway. Salem’s not ending the world.

In the end, facing one’s own feelings, being them wishes:

Or fears:

Is still better than repressing them, even if it might be painful.

b)

I'm the one That was born in a nightmare a murderer's son Got no gun But I gleam like a blade and I'm harder than iron

I'm the one I'll race with your eyes and you'll never outrun Illusions Will conquer your mind and will make you fulfill my design

The song I’m the One has four key verses. In the first two ones both characters tell a little of their past and then discuss their abilities, while in the other two Mercury mostly talks about his past and emphasizes it, while Emerald highlights her semblance more.

This ends up foreshadowing the importance of Emerald’s semblance and Mercury’s lack of one (”got no gun”).

Emerald’s semblance is important on different levels. As stated above, it perfectly embodies Emerald’s flaw:

Mercury: You're in denial.

And it is linked to unconscious aspects, like wishes and fears. Finally, it is a semblance linked to trickery and lies and these are among the causes of The Fall of Beacon:

Cinder:  Our Kingdoms are on the brink of war, yet we, the citizens, are left in the dark.

It is not by chance that this semblance specifically has been so instrumental in Cinder’s plan, after all.

Similarly, Mercury’s lack of a semblance is one of his defining traits:

Mercury: He never went easy on me! Every day of training was a beating. And when I unlocked my Semblance, he stole it with his!

Ironically, this would make for an excellent narrative objective for Mercury’s character. However, he is so sure his semblance can’t be taken back that he has completely given up on it. This even if he is clearly bitter about having had a part of himself stolen.

The key aspect here may be that Mercury has failed to get his semblance back through his father’s teachings:

Mercury: He told me I could have it back when I was strong. So I got strong, but I never got it back!

And he is now considering it lost forever. It is possible that the path to find his ability again is instead another one altogether.

That said, while Cinder mostly used Emerald’s semblance in her plan, she also made great use of Mercury’s skill and of the peculiar nature of his body:

The first step in her plan, after all, uses both Emerald’s semblance and Mercury’s prostethic legs to spread negative emotions. This tendency continues in PvP where Emerald uses her semblance and Mercury, unhurt because of his legs, prevents Ruby from interrupting the fight.

In short, Emerald mostly relies on her semblance, while Mercury mostly relies on his legs and fighting prowess.

This detail adds to the idea that Emerald and Mercury have been acting as a unit and have been complementing each other. Emerald acts as the “soul” and Mercury as the “body”.

The soul is one’s personal essence (like the semblance). It is where (once again) wishes reside. The body is what protects the soul and is animated by instincts and self-survival.

They complement each other. This complementarity is shown in Emerald and Mercury’s fights.

In the Vytal festival, Mercury takes on both Coco and Yatsuhashi for a short while, so that Emerald can size her chance to fight Coco at her own terms (and she wins by using her semblance).

In the Battle of Heaven, Emerald uses her semblance to help Mercury fight and, in a sense, she compensates for his lack of one:

This perfect complementarity used to make them strong, but right now it is clear that it has become limitating:

Blake: When you’ve been at someone’s side for so long, after a while they become a part of you. But that’s just it, they’re only a part of you. Don’t forget about the rest.

 This is why they are currently being separated by the narrative.

On one hand Emerald must learn not to be so emotionally dependant from others and must make her own choices. This is also why her using the lamp might be meaningful:

Qrow: This last great creation would be given the power to both create and destroy. It would be given the gift of knowledge, so that it could learn about itself and the world around it. And most importantly, it would be given the power to choose, to have free will to take everything it had learned and decide which path to follow - the path of light or the path of darkness.

The whole point of the relics (and of the journey we are going through) is to learn about the world, about creation and destruction, so that in the end a choice can be made.

This is why the first relic we saw is the relic of knowledge. Now, Emerald is a character that has been dependant on others, so that she could realize her wishes. Aladdin itself is a story about a character depending on a Jinn to make his dreams come true. However, it is possible Emerald’s arc will be different and it will be about gaining the knowledge to act and realize one’s wishes.

On the other hand Mercury must face himself and learn what he really wants. He must start living instead of simply surviving. In a sense, he must take the soul his father stole back.

Mercury quoting Marcus: "This is a crutch!" "This makes you weak!"

Marcus was wrong. One’s individuality (semblance) does not make them weak. If anything, Marcus’s abuse of Mercury made him need a literal crutch (since he lost his legs) and the boy is still hiding behind this violence to avoid any real choice about himself. This is what prevents him from becoming strong:

Yang: You might be powerful, but that doesn't make you strong.

Raven: Who do you think you are, lecturing me?! Standing there, shaking like a scared little girl?!

Yang: Yeah, I'm scared. But I'm still standing here!

His connection with Emerald might still play a role in this. After all, Mercury is, among other things, the god of thieves and this allusion has been played with by making him protective of Emerald (whose surname means “thief”). It might be used in a deeper and more meaningful way later on.

Emerald and Mercury must grow because if they don’t, they’ll end up as their dark foils:

Both Hazel and Emerald ended up joining Salem out of a feeling of love that was twisted. Emerald joined Salem because of her loyalty to Cinder, who is using her. Hazel joined Salem because of the death of his sister that he blames on Ozpin. Their semblances are even symbolic of their respective flaws since Emerald is caught up in her own delusions, while Hazel is unable to properly grieve, so he can’t “feel pain” on more than just the physical level.

Both Mercury and Tyrian are assassins and Tyrian is who Mercury might become if he truly chooses to live only to kill and does not find a different goal.

It is also telling that both Emerald and Mercury are currently put in similar circumstances as their two foils. As a matter of fact Mercury is leaving with Tytian, while Emerald and Hazel have been given the password to use the lamp and must choose what to make of this information.

At the same time, Emerald and Mercury have also some traits of respectively Tyrian and Hazel as well.

Emerald is fiercely loyal to Cinder like Tyrian is to Salem:

Tyrian: So devoted to someone so incompetent.

Hazel wanted to protect Gretchen (and is still acting on these unfulfilled feelings of protectiveness) like Mercury is trying to protect Emerald. Moreover, Gretchen and (probably) Emerald’s choice was/will be to fight an enemy that can’t be beaten, going against Hazel and Mercury’s wishes.

All in all, Emerald and Mercury have had interesting interactions with both Hazel and Tyrian that can be (ironically) seen as two incomplete and flawed mentor figures.

On one hand Hazel has been acting as a protector of sorts. He carried Emerald when she lost consciousness after the Battle of Heaven and he tried to protect both Emerald and Mercury from Salem’s rage after their failure.

On the other hand Tyrian is seen tormenting the two kids whenever he gets the chance. That said, he ironically ends up spelling out for them truths the two must face:

Tyrian: Do what makes you happy children... please? I'm begging you...

Tyrian: Of course she is! You’re surprised? Salem is destruction incarnate! Our mistress wishes to see the end of it all! There is no ideal more beautiful.

In short, some kind of interesting foiling seems to have been set-up for the four of them and it will be interesting to see if/how it develops.

MIDNIGHT = BEGINNING OF THE END

In a sense, when the clock stroke midnight it was the beginning of Cinder’s end because she entered a spiral she has not been able to stop since then. Not only that, but she has dragged other people in that same spirals and those people are now struggling against it, just like her.

At the same time, midnight signals the end of illusions and that may be a fitting description for where we are in the story so far.

Ruby has just announced the existence of Salem to the world, Emerald is uncovering several truths about Salem, Cinder and herself and the Ace Ops are being forced to face their emotions. Of course, when some illusions end, new ones appear. However, it is clear we are in a pivotal moment, which will hopefully lead to some changes.

Similarly, Cinder, Mercury and Emerald will probably go their own ways soon and it will be interesting to see how their paths will foil and where they will meet again.

As for now, it seems that because of Emerald’s allusion to Aladdin, she might use the last question to Jinn. If so, she will probably aquire knowledge and wisdom (emeralds are the stones of wisdom apparently).

Mercury will probably spiral a little bit as for now, but I wonder if he will receive some pivotal focus in the Vacuo’s volumes. Other than him going there with Tyrian, there is also the fact that it would make what is currently just a juxtaposition with Penny (thank you, @hamliet​ for noticing) a more interesting foiling.

Penny is an artificial human, a creation who was given life because her father loved her so much that he sacrificed a part of his aura for her... twice. She is at the centre of the theme of creation and it represents the good sides of it. She is a creation with a soul, a child, the fruit of parental love. It is because of the love she received that she is willing to protect creation:

Penny: That is not… I choose to fight for people who care about me.

Penny’s arc is about self-actualization. She struggles to be her own person outside her role, her purpose and even her parent. However, even if she has been objectified and keeps being objectified, she has also been given affection and this is why she fights.

Mercury is her opposite. He was the target of his father’s violence. Marcus not only stole his legs (while Pietro built Penny a body), but even a part of his soul (while Pietro gave Penny a part of his). He taught Mercury hate and violence and this is why he is currently helping a witch to destroy the world. Because of this, it would be interesting for such a character to receive focus on the volumes about destruction.

Finally, Cinder, as the Fall Maiden, is linked to the theme of choice. This has already been explored a little bit in her being obessed by destiny, as said above. However, the theme of choice is one which must still be fully explored.

In particular, there are several references to choice and destiny when it comes to Cinder’s foil aka Pyrrha:

Cinder (about Pyrrha): Hmm... People assume that she's fated for victory, when she's really taking fate into her own hands.

Cinder: It's unfortunate you were promised a power that was never truly yours.

Pyrrha: When I think of destiny, I don't think of a predetermined fate you can't escape. But rather... some sort of final goal, something you work towards your entire life.

Red-Haired Woman: She understood that she had a responsibility... to try. I don't think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn't a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

Pyrrha’s arc is about making a choice. She must choose if she wants to become a Maiden. She struggles, but in the end she accepts this responsibilty. She embraces her idea of destiny and tries to be a Maiden even without powers.

Cinder’s idea of destiny is not fully explored. In a sense, just like Pyrrha, she has taken destiny in her own hands. However, she also seems to use the idea of destiny to nurture her self-image as the Chosen One and as the Worthy One.

At the same time, Pyrrha’s choice led to her tragic death. Not only that, but in the end her death accomplished little. Even Ruby activating her silver eyes has more to do with her wish to protect life, rather than with death. Why is that so? It is probably because Pyrrha’s choice was made without knowledge. She had been explained only a fragment of the truth, while the whole point is that one should learn, meet creation and destruction and then make a choice. This is why we have yet to meet the relic of choice.

My guess is that the theme of choice will mostly be explored through Cinder’s character, who will be asked to choose her destiny in the end.

#rwby #rwby meta #cinder fall #emerald sustrai #mercury black #my meta

[tallmantall]

#Anxiety #BiPolar #BipolarDisorder #CelebratingYourGiftofLife #Depression #JamesDonaldson #JamesDonaldsonnotes:Welcometothe“nextchapter”ofmylife…beingavoiceandanadvocateformentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention #JamesDonaldsonMentalHealth #JamesDonaldsononMentalHealth #MentalChallenges #MentalHealth #MentalHealthConditions #MentalHealthProfessionals #MentalHealthStigma #MentalIllness #MentalIssues #NAMI #NAMI.org #Schizophrenia #Stress #SubstanceAbuse #YourGiftofLife #YourGiftofLife.org #YourGiftofLifeFoundation

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episode 10 (Repost)

Loneliness must have drawn you back here, says Hwajung to Chohui. But these could have been words for Dusik and Hyejin, too. The past and current entanglements of Gongjin’s love affairs, after all, run parallel to each other. For Chohui, her mother’s death and her brother’s migration left her solitary, so it only seemed natural to return to somewhere familiar. Hyejin, on the other hand, visited the seaside town to reclaim the memory of happier times, when her mother was still alive. Dusik’s reasons are still obscured but the glimpses into the wakes he’s stood vigil by are compelling reasons behind his return.

Home, as I observed in the first episode of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, is where the heart is and the hurts are.

Episode 10 unfolded like the turning point that it is. As the previous chapters tackled the inner workings of all our characters, especially the progress of Hyejin and Dusik both as individuals and in their romantic engagements, we saw how people began to confront their fears. Whether it’s Cheonjae’s anxieties as a has-been singer and as a single father to a rebellious Juri or Gamri’s quiet suffering in her empty nest, the melancholy that undergirds the town’s surface pushed each one to face their scars and losses. For all the comic relief she brings, even Miseon had to brave confusion and rejection.

In this page of Gongjin’s tale, however, the theme of battling life’s greatest antagonist is truest among Dusik, Hyejin, and Seonghyun.

Poor Seonghyun, so new to the town yet so quick to have been thrown into the maelstrom of Gongjin’s charms and tragedies. His greatest fear was being late. He missed opportunities before, including in the postcard-perfect moments of his youth. Always an observer but never the one observed; always watching over Hyejin but always a step behind others in the line. If he were dancing, he’d be out of rhythm, too busy trying to memorize the choreography.

He has rehearsed his lines a thousand times. Will they come out right? Here, Lee Sang-yi gives Seonghyun his most graceful and yet graceless moment. Making an abrupt u-turn on his way to Seoul, he returns to Gongjin — late once again. Hyejin, attacked by a wandering sexual predator in town, has been saved by Dusik. If the shock of the night’s crime were not enough, he confesses the next evening to a Hyejin that had just mistakenly implied her growing affections for Dusik. She’s just had dinner, too.

Full and formal, Hyejin listens to Seonghyun’s lonely and tense confession. Sangyi delivers the lines Seonghyun has held onto for years. It’s a speech marked by jitters, fretful glances, and a slowly growing blush. Once out, he tries to stop the tension by marking the scene as a take. But the clapperboard humor isn’t enough. Hyejin watches him eat alone. She has no appetite.

Hyejin, for her part, couldn’t be blamed. She never really saw Seonghyun other than a senior to be admired. Yes, he’s saved her from a jerk before. But years of absence have made the heart grow duller instead of fonder. She’s also just come from an equally awkward dinner with Dusik, who is celebrating his grandfather’s death anniversary. There is no room for another meal. The night before — the night of the attack — she had slept in Dusik’s home for the third time as well.

At the first visit to his home, she kissed Mr. Hong on impulse and alcohol. On the second, she carried the weight and fears of an inebriated Dusik. On the third visit, she is traumatized from the night’s break-in, so now slips in to Mr. Hong’s clothes and stays over, unable to sleep unless Dusik’s around with poetry. He reads to her...It is my job to fall in love with you while waiting for you the next day. The antidote to Hyejin’s fear, after all, is Gongjin’s son.

But what does Hyejin fear? Well, it’s simple. She fears what she lost — her childhood, to be who she is. As a young girl who lost her mother, she had to grow up fast given her father’s alcohol-tinged coping mechanism. As a young woman, she had to build walls after a harsh rebuke of her lowly appearance. So she covers her scars with pretenses — and fancy shoes. Her clothes are her walls. Her life has been planned out. She steers this career with distinct professionalism and ambition. But it’s never ruthless. A woman-child, her core reveals a soft, compassionate heart.

This is what Dusik brings out in her. It’s not something Dusik necessarily gives. The two, after all, have their losses but they are whole persons, too. Dusik’s unconventional lifestyle and ways have eroded the surface of Hyejin’s fortress. Like salted sea slowly breaking down cliffs. With Dusik, she regains the lost child, the one who laughs when pieces of crab meat are flung to Dusik’s face. If that was Seonghyun, Hyejin would have been profusely apologetic and formal. But Mr. Hong is different. Around him, Hyejin can be unguarded, vulnerable.

Dusik, on the other hand, always saw her in a different light. Carrying the weight of unexplained grief, Dusik knows exactly what’s hidden behind Hyejin’s front. But for all his bravado, he’s afraid, too. The people he loved the most have left him, leaving him with an unimaginable sense of guilt. It’s what keeps him tethered to the idea of boundaries. He only likes Hyejin as a friend. But his eyes, his actions — they speak otherwise. If he admits to loving Hyejin, then the prospect of fresh losses cripple him. He’s an engineering graduate, so he has made the calculations. And yet, this strange woman who has returned from a childhood memory is urging him to take those risks and forget those probabilities.

He took a stab on the shoulder, one that nearly cost his life. Isn’t that love — or even the semblance of it? Why does Dusik need to certify his affections with assurance? Gamri, Gonjin’s wisest daughter, sees through Dusik’s barricades. Life’s brevity, she says, demands risks but most of all, honesty with oneself.

These are words worth ruminating in the evening breeze at the town’s breakwater.

It’s the same place where Hyejin finds him.

After a trip to Seoul to forget the town’s powers over her and Miseon, she realizes the city’s offerings were no longer attractive. Everything reminds her of Gongjin. She can’t stop thinking of Dusik. As a grown-up, Hyejin had sought security. Her instinct of self-preservation made her hard. Drenched in a sudden downpour in Seoul, she remembers her rain-soaked self with Dusik at the beach. It is enough for her to understand.

These realizations surge from Hyejin’s adrenaline-filled confession. Unable to deny her growing affections any further, she takes the plunge.

The child faces reality with simple acceptance. In the presence of a vulnerable Hyejin, things freely move and are themselves. The effects are immediately clear. Like any sensible woman, Hyejin knows Dusik could all but reject him, too. Who drives back from Seoul to rant about love, right? But Dusik understands. The hours waiting for her return were sooner than he had anticipated. But the man had made his calculations. The formulas are no longer useful.

True to himself, Dusik fulfills his new duty. It is my job to fall in love with you while waiting for you the next day. So he returns the confession with the most reasonable declaration: a kiss, first tender, one that leaves Hyejin breathless. He speaks but yearns for more. So he lets his lips touch hers for a second time. A kiss now free from all the tentativeness of the night.

A few weeks ago I read several criticisms about Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha. It’s cliched. People only watch it because the actors are popular. There’s nothing exceptional about a love story.

Cliched, true. But there is a reason why there are cliches because they are true. Do people only watch because the actors are popular? Perhaps. Perhaps not. A love story doesn’t hold a candle to the more intellectual and uncomfortable narratives available for consumption, right? You know, the stories that deal with war and violence, politics and its lack of virtue, the more profound tales that explore humanity or its degradation. But I fear this is an effort to leave the commonplace, the domestic, and the personal materials unattended for the sake of what seems profound. Yet, the production of these “better” and more profound stories does not offer any solace from suffering.

For over a year now, we’ve been fighting the wrath of an invisible virus. It might even be true to say that for many of us, we’ve lost someone dear, someone deeply loved. If not, we know someone who has dealt with these losses. Given the lockdowns and restrictions, even grieving has been abbreviated. Our reality is sobering. We fear many things. So while I don’t hold it against people to choose the more elevated tales, it would be a shame to dismiss those who gush over a love story as uncritical and frivolous.

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha resonates with and appeals to many because it reminds us of the things we’ve lost to the pandemic. Face-to-face conversations. The stability of a job. Family. Friendship. The pat on the back. Our grandparents. Our first love. A hand to hold. Dinner with friends under the warmth of incandescent light. Office conversations. Senseless chatter. The thrill of falling in love. The smell of the sea, and the sand on our feet. Our best friend. The normalcy of a leisurely walk. Dancing in the rain. People. Our community. The words we wanted to say. A kiss.

In a world where physical intimacy and closeness are dangerous, we feel our lips with our fingers watching Hyejun and Dusik kiss. And we remember the way we were. Kim Seon Ho was right in saying Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha is a healing drama. To love and be loved, after all, remains the ultimate catharsis.

#hometown cha cha cha #kim seon ho #Shin Min Ah #kdrama #korean drama #갯마을 차차차 #writing #love #drama #homcha

[dadolorian]

Kiss of life

A/N: I had a little idea of Dins first kiss being from CPR and i ran with it. Baby is not in danger , gender neutral reader (but i tend to expand this story and reader will be referred to as female in future chapters) , no use on Y/N. Two lines were inspired by  @dindjarinsleftvambrace​ comment on my original post about this. Yo, this is NOT medically accurate.

Title: Kiss of life Fandom: The Mandalorian. Ship: Din Djarin x GN!reader Warning: Canon typical violence, near death experience, first kiss. Soft!Din Angsty with a happy ending. Medical inaccuracies.  Summary: Din is shot with a tranquilizer that leaves his body complete parallelized. He relies on reader to keep him alive until the drug wears off and later realizes he had just had his first kiss. Word count: - Almost 4K

Being left alone on the crest, with the baby was usually a nerve wracking time, wondering when, or if your companion, the Mandalorian, would return. With only the little green bean and basic odd jobs to distract yourself with, you often felt yourself drifting towards those unsavory thoughts, fears of what would happen to the two of you should he not return. And not just that, how would you cope without him around anymore?  In such a short time you had grown so ... attached to the stoic warrior. You convinced yourself it was a fleeting crush, that it would pass in time, but each time you watched that shield of his chip away as he interacted with the little green bean your heart just melted. Said little green bean seemed to be able to sense your fears, the Mandalorian, Mando, had told you early into your time together that he had these...abilities. So when you fretted about your fate, pacing around the ship like a mad person, the little guy picked up on your distress, fretting and fussing as much as you did,  you made a habit to distract yourself from those thoughts as much as possible. 

However, on this particular expedition of his, Mando arrived back surprisingly early. You were attempting to patch up one of his extra flight suits, he had received a rather nasty gash in his arm on his previous venture, resulting in the sizable hole in the fabric, you had offered to fix it just as something to busy yourself with when he left. Sitting on the floor, needle in hand, you laughed softly as the child attempted to snuggle up into the material for a cuddle when you heard muffled blaster fire creep closer and closer to the crest. You were on your feet, blaster in hand before you had even fully registered the noise. Mando had insisted on teaching you how to shoot, you acted on pure instinct, however that did not stop your arm from trembling, having never actually needed his training so far. With one foot you gently ushered the child behind you who was now just as fully alert as you were, clinging to your boot anxiously. The blaster fire was now alarmingly close, right outside the hull, you prayed it was nothing to do with Mando, that it was two people completely unrelated to your small, weird little family that you had come to adore, that their fight would pass you by. Your fears were confirmed when the cargo bay door started to open, lowering the ramp and exposing you and the child to whatever danger awaited. The familiar Mandalorian, your Mandalorian, came into view, you could barely make out his shape against the dark sky outside, but immediately you could tell something was off. He was usually so strong and in control, man handling quarries into the ship with little effort, they often put up a fight, if they were alive, sure, but never had you seen Mando be chased inside by a quarry. He staggered in, his body heaving with effort just to stay upright as he haphazardly fired back at the quarry who returned fire but only managed to hit the durable Beskar, bouncing the blaster beam around the hull for a second or two, making you jump. You could barely see the commotion, just their rough silhouettes against the faint moonlight ,the poor lighting of the ship and outside night sky leaving the blaster fire as your only source of light to really see by.  You had not even fully taken in the scene before you shot, somehow able to stop the trembling of your arm and fire just as Mando had taught you, with no hesitation. It was a clean shot, right into the quarries chest, he hadn’t even had the time to notice you were in the ship before he was dead, you watched as he collapsed onto the ramp the same time Mando collapsed onto the floor of the hull. You rushed forward, kicking the quarry off the ramp and closing the door, not wanting anyone sneaking up on you as you rushed back to Mando, checking him for injuries, but unable to find any.    “M-Mando what's wrong?” you asked, voice trembling as you tried to assess just what caused him to collapse. 

“T-tranq dart,” he rasped, struggling for breath. 

A tranq dart could be dealt with at least. “Oh, okay, we… we can deal with that,” you said, calming your nervous breaths. “N-no,” he said, clawing at his chest plate, fighting to remove it. “Dif-different kind of tranq. Shu-shuts down everything.” He struggled for breath, wet and heavy as if he was drowning. “Lungs...Heart, can’t keep them go-going on my own...Need a...a life sup-support unit.” You felt your face drain as you processed that information. “O-okay, well where is it?” you asked, trying hard not to let the rising panic overtake you. “Don’t-don’t have one,” he gasped harshly, the drug already starting to shut his systems down. “W-what do I do then?” your voice trembled and hand shook as you struggled to think of a place to put them. “N-nothing sweet one,” he rasped, gloved hand moving to cup your cheek shakily, thumb stroking soft patterns against your skin, an affectionate gesture he had never done before. “Ju-just get the kid somewhere safe...That’s all I ask.”    You shook your head in defiance, tears welling in your eyes. “No, don’t be stupid Mando, there must be something i can do?” He shook his own head weakly, arm collapsing by his side. “C-CPR?” you suggested feebly, desperate for something to try. His helmet shook again, “Not without removing my helmet...And it could take...hours...for it to leave my system. Keeping me going that long...impossible” His helmet began to list lazily to the side and once again you found yourself moving before you had even registered what was happening. You finished off removing his chest plate and grabbed a scrap of material you had been using to repair his other suit, you placed the kid into his shared bunk with Mando and locked him in, not wanting him to become too distressed by Mando’s state, he cooed at you worriedly as you sealed the door shut, you were quick but by the time you returned to Mando’s side his gasps for air were weak wheezes. “I’m not going to let your creed get you killed Mando,” you said with shaky determination in your voice as you tied the scrap around your eyes, blinding yourself. Feeling around you found the edge of his helmet and pulled it off carefully, you felt him weakly grab your wrist and try to stop you. “I’m not going to break your creed Mando...But i’m not letting you die either” you said, shaking his grip off of you and placing the helmet down by his side. “I know how to do this.” You tilted his head back to clear his airway, interlocked your fingers and began thirty compression's on his chest, followed by pinching his nose, placing your lips on his and giving him two, strong breaths. You were supposed to watch his chest rise and fall with each breath, but with your current lack of visibility you had to go on blind faith that it was working. Another thirty compression's, another two breaths, another thirty compression's, another two breaths. Again, and again, and again, over and over.  You lost count at how many, and how much time had passed, Minutes? Hours? There was no way to tell, and with how Mando described the drug working, you had no idea if it even was working.  For all you knew Mando’s life had drained from him shortly after you started. It was a thought you did not want to entertain. The hull was eerily silent apart from your continuous counting, counting out each individual compression repeatedly. You weren’t sure at what point you had to give up, when do you call it quits? What if he’s alive thanks to your efforts and has to watch as you give up on him, unable to move and tell you it’s working? Trapped inside a body he has no control over. The idea of letting him down like that, imagining the fear he would feel if you just stopped kept you going. Even as your arms began to burn and your head began to swim. The effort it took to keep going exhausted you. You couldn’t loose him, you couldn’t. You didn’t want to be alone in the universe again. You couldn't stop the tears that escaped your blindfold, they rolled down your face and dripped onto Mando as you repeated another thirty compression's. Nor could you stop the choked sob that wracked your body. You clumsily wiped your face on your shoulder, not wanting Mando to experience a snotty, tear soaked mess when you moved for the next kiss of life. “Come on Mando” you pleaded, as you moved between compression's and breaths, pleading to him , the maker, anyone that this far fetched idea would work. “Don’t do this to me, Please” A soft coo beside you distracted you for just a moment. “K-kid?” you asked the dark space around you, cursing for a moment as you lost count of your compression's but continued without falter. He cooed again, you could hear the fear in his little voice. “I-it’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” you reassured him but you didn’t sound all too convincing. You felt the little one brush up beside you. “N-no kid, it’s best if you go away,” you said, pausing to give Mando another two breaths. “You shouldn’t have to watch this.” Another thirty compression's. Soft grunting beside you alerted you to the fact the kid was doing something, you weren’t sure what, but out of respect for Mando you refused to take off the blindfold to check. Whatever he was doing was not stopping you from your task. He moved beside you again, gently collapsing to the floor, you would have been more concerned if you didn’t hear the soft snores that followed. You shook your head, thankful that the little one would not be a distraction now that he had freed himself.

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions-  A hand grabbed your wrist, startling you. “M-Mando,” you sighed, letting out a shaky breath and relief flooding your body. You put your ear close to his mouth to listen, and could hear his weak breaths, your fingers found his neck underneath his cowl and found a weak pulse. Weak, but alive. “Thank the Maker,” you sobbed, collapsing back onto the ground, the pain of what felt like hours of compression's creeping throughout your body. Dizzy, sore, dry lips, Maker you just wanted to sleep now.  You heaved a few breaths, with the breathing you had been doing for Mando, it felt like your own lungs were starved of oxygen. But you weren’t done yet, sure, he had a pulse, and could breathe on his own, but he was still struggling. You got up on two shaky legs, taking the blindfold off once your back was turned to him, you made your way over to the med kit, rummaging around tiredly until you found what you were after, the oxygen mask. You donned the blindfold again and made your way back over to him carefully, testing your footsteps with extra caution as to make sure not to step on a napping green child. You slipped the mask on him as best you could blinded and lay down on the hull floor, listening carefully to Mando’s weak, uneven breaths. 

The next thing you knew the silent hull was shaking slightly. You sat up, confused as your tired mind took in your surroundings. Your blindfold was gone, and you were in Mando’s bunk, a thin blanket thrown over you and a sleeping child nestled in his hammock above you. The shaking of the ship and hum of the engines told you you were in flight. Groggy, you shuffled out of the small bunk, maker, you barely fit in that thing how the hell did Mando? You looked around the hull, noting that Mando and his helmet were nowhere to be seen, the medkit was packed away, and even your abandoned sewing project had been packed away neatly. Just how long were you asleep if he had recovered enough to do all that and move you? You climbed the ladder to the cockpit, making sure to knock on the door, just in case Mando was sans helmet, a little courtesy you did each time the door was closed as to respect his creed. The door opened and there he sat, in the pilot’s chair as if everything was normal. “Thank the maker that worked,” you groaned tiredly, moving to collapse in one of the free seats. As tired as you still were, after what happened you didn’t want to leave him alone just yet. Not for his sake, for yours. His head barely turned to acknowledge you entering. He was distracting himself, you noted, keeping himself busy. Your short time together you had already begun to notice a few things about him, even though you knew little to nothing about flying, you could tell when he was fiddling with controls in order to look busy, he tended to do that when he was avoiding something, or when something was bothering him. You watched for a while, waiting for him to say something, there was tension in the air but it wasn’t coming from you. It poured off of him in waves. Patiently you waited, but with each passing second the tension grew, and Mando became more agitated . It was a ridiculous amount of time of him pretending to do stuff before you broke the silence. “Are you upset that I didn't listen to you?” you asked, unable to think of any other reason your Mandalorian was so tense. He paused for a moment. “I’m not upset at you,” he said. “Then why are you so on edge? “Im not,” he snapped, but there was little bite to his words. “Mando, I know you well enough by now.” He continued to play with console buttons. You could practically feel his mind turning as he tried to explain himself, to think of the words he wanted to say. “Are you upset I didn't give you your warrior's death?” you guessed. “Maker no,” he sighed. “I’m not upset at you. In fact...I’m grateful, to you and the kid, I'd be dead without you two and you would’ve been stranded.” What did the kid do? You thought to yourself watching him for a moment flip a few more useless switches. “Then tell me what’s bothering you. Please Mando,” you pleaded softly, encouraging him to open up to you. He was usually so closed off, to you and the kid, but recently you had begun to notice little steps, mainly with the kid, but a few small things with you too. He’d peel away that stoic outer shell for just a moment, and you could see the soft, gentle man underneath for the smallest of glimpses. They were rare, those moments, but you anticipated each one excitedly, noting as they increased in frequency.  Occasionally he would slip up and call you “sweet one’, instead of using your name, he never acknowledged the nickname, and you feared if you brought it up the endearment would stop. You often found a hand would travel to the small of your back as you walked beside him on supply runs, or how he began to speak to you more, rather than the short one or two word answers you would get when you first joined his crew. Those little things showed your growing bond. That you were no longer just crew mates, you were becoming fast friends. But, as close as you were becoming, you wouldn’t push him to talk if he wasn’t ready to. You sighed, as he continued to feign tasks, standing up to give him space. “I’ve never been kissed before,” his voice halted you. You turned in the door frame to look at him dumbly. “Like...Never never?” you asked lamely, a little shocked. It made sense, you supposed. He couldn’t take his helmet off around other people, but you weren’t blind. There were plenty of other people besides you who wanted the Beskar-clad warrior and you struggled to believe he lacked for willing partners. But life and creed got in the way you guessed, keeping him from forming enough of a connection with someone he could trust enough to take his helmet off for. “Never,” he confirmed, still fiddling with switches. He was still bothered. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” you said softly, wanting to comfort him, he froze.  “I’m sure one day you’ll trust someone enough to give your first kiss to.” He cocked his head slightly, pondering what you said. “W-wait..So that doesn’t count as my first kiss?” he asked. You scoffed a little, leaning against the door frame and stuffed your hands into your pockets. “Well, I guess it is called the kiss of life,” you shrugged. “So if you want that to be your first kiss,” you huffed a little amused. “But your first kiss should be something a little more...consensual. You didn’t exactly get much of a choice in the matter. Something you actually participate in and want to do.” He pondered your words again. “And if I want to do it again? And...participate this time?” he asked hesitantly, turning his head slightly to peek out the edge of his visor. Your face heated up at the implication, of actually kissing him. “T-then...all you have to do is ask Mando,” you said trying to keep your voice even and play it cool. He stared at you from the corner of his visor for a moment, you tried not to squirm as he held your gaze. He stood up and hesitantly closed the gap between the two of you, stopping within an arms reach of you.  “C-can I...No, can you kiss me properly this time?” he asked. “J-just me?” you asked, confused. He nodded slowly, gazing down at you, gently stroking your hair. “Show me what a real kiss is like...Please?” he asked. “W-well, since you asked me so nicely,” you huffed again, trying to sound confident but cringing at the way your voice cracked. He pulled out the scrap of fabric you had used earlier, cocking his head for silent permission to tie it on. You nodded, trying to hide your growing smile as the world became dark around you. You heard him shuffle around, the metallic clank of his helmet being placed down and heard his voice unmodulated. You loved hearing it without a filter, it was a rare treat. “I-is it normal to be nervous?” he asked anxiously, without the modulator it was much easier to hear the emotion in his voice. You could hear his nerves. “Yes, and don’t worry, I'm nervous too,” you smiled. “But..you’ve done this before right?” he asked. “Yeah, but sharing a first kiss with someone is always as nerve wracking as it is exciting,” you say, carefully reaching up to find his face in the dark. It never occurred to you to map out his face while giving him CPR, you respected him too much to take advantage of the situation, and him like that. But now that he had willingly taken his helmet off around you, and wanted to share a real kiss with you, you were willing to be a little selfish and explore his face a little now. His lips, which you had spent hours previously mashing your own against, you finally took note of and realized how soft they were, his bottom lip had a nice curve to it you tried to imagine in your head, the nose you had pinched, you realized was quite prominent, he probably had a very handsome profile, especially with the strong brow you felt. Facial hair, which you had felt during CPR but never took considerable note of  was patchy around his jaw, leading to a thin stache above his lip, you pictured the features as best you could in your head, trying to decide if he was dark haired or not. You imagined he did, a rich black or brown. Speaking of hair, your hand traveled to the back of his neck, gently grasping at soft curls. He gasped slightly and you giggled, pondering if the poor man probably suffered with some bad helmet hair at times. With another gentle tug of his hair you pulled him down to your level, brushing your nose against his. You could hear his breath hitch and you smiled wide. “You trust me, right Mando?” you asked in a whisper. You felt him nod before he realized you couldn’t see him. “Y-yes,” he whispered back, swallowing nervously. “Yeah? Good,” you said before bridging the small gap between your lips, devouring his lips with your own. His lips were just as soft as you had felt with your fingers. He whimpered slightly, hands coming to rest on your hips, gripping the material of your pants tightly and hesitantly pulling you closer to him. It was awkward, he was so uncertain that your noses and foreheads kept bumping together but neither of you cared enough to break the kiss, his breath huffed against your cheek and lips as he tried to figure out how to control his breathing. You lead and he followed, resting your free hand on his shoulder to anchor yourself as you cautiously deepened the kiss, letting your tongue trace over his lips, testing to see if he liked it. He moaned and you smiled into the kiss, getting drunk off of his little reactions as you gently coaxed his tongue to dance against yours. He whimpered and moaned with each pass of your tongue or gentle pull of his hair. You were happy to continue the clumsy kiss for as long as he would allow, but he broke away from you first, panting softly. “That was...wow,” he huffed, you could hear the smile in his voice, causing you to smile wider. “I hope that did your first kiss justice,” you teased playfully, feeling a surge of confidence for having made the feared Mandalorian a panting, whimpering mess from just a kiss. Your heart warmed at his soft chuckle. “B-better than I imagined it would be,” he admitted. You laughed softly. “Well, for a first time kisser you’re not too bad,” you teased again. “Not too bad?” he asked, amusement and challenge in his voice. “What does that mean?” “Room for improvement,” you shrugged, goading him. “You just need a little more practice.” “Is that an offer?” “Only if you want it to be.” You hummed happily as he grabbed your hips again, pulling you towards him and devouring your lips with his own. You were happy to practice with him anytime. 

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#din djarin #mando #the Mandalorian #Mandalorian #x reader #Din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #star wars #fanfic #my fic

[ficsnooneaskedfor]

I'm stuck at the department of human services trying to recertify for SNAP (yay for being a poor student unable to work 🙃) and it's taking FOREVER. So while I wait, I thought I'd share some facts/headcanons about my Bad Batch fic and the characters that people following my fic might find interesting.

Echo and Citali are both on the asexual spectrum. I see them as being demisexual or sex-positive/sex-favorable aces. Totally okay if my readers don't see them that way, it's not terribly important to the overall story. It's just how I see them.

Echo has told Citali many, many stories about his batchmates and Rex. She's never said it out loud but she considers them family, even though she's never met them, because of how important they are to Echo.

He's even told her stories about Ahsoka, Anakin, Obi-Wan, and other Jedi he's met.

They've all told her stories about Crosshair. Despite him serving for the Empire (which she despises) and the things he's done, she considers him family too and hopes one day he will join the rest of them somehow.

Citali's name is inspired by the name "Citlali", which is a Nahuatl (Aztec) name meaning star. (My father is Black and Indigenous Mexican, and I've been trying to learn Nahuatl for years but it super hard for me)

Melita's name is actually a variation of my own name (Melissa). Melita means "honey" (my name means honey bee). Melita isn't really a self-insert character despite the similarity of our names, I just liked the name for her.

I've mentioned it before but in my mind, Melita looks like a dark-skinned Nathalie Emmanuel and Citali looks like a Twi'lek version of indigenous actress and activist, Q'orianka Kilcher. If you have a different idea of what they look like, that's a-okay.

Though Citali's father is from Ryloth, her mother's family has been living on Ord Mantell for generations and as a result, their Twi'leki culture is very different than that of her father's. They do speak fluent Twi'leki, but it's more common for her mother's family and other Twi'lek families on the planet to speak to each other in a hybrid/creole type language that is a mix of Twi'leki, Galactic Basic, and is influenced by some of the other languages on the planet.

I loved this idea because my mom is (among other things) part Metís, a culture that is a mix of European and Indigenous American/Canadian people. In my family's case, they were a mix of French and mainly Anishinaabe. The language of Metís people is Michif, a mix of French and mostly Cree (and other indigenous languages), but it's estimated less than 1000 people still speak it.

Citali's mother's family lives on the other side of the planet in a very rural community that lives mostly off the land. She's visited them at different points in her life.

Her mother moved to Ord Mantell City when she was young to work and would send money back home for her family and their community. Shortly after Citali was born, her grandparents became ill and moved to the city so Citali's parents could care for them. They both died when Citali was a young child.

Citali trained to be a midwife for almost 8 years all over the planet (including her mother's community) but her mentors thought she was ready to work on her own after 5. She continued training for almost 3 more years anyway because she personally felt she needed it.

Citali, the Bad Batch, Omega, and Melita all have some form of PTSD, and Citali's response to trauma is a form of fawning. Fawning for those who don't know is a trauma response when someone is a people pleaser to avoid conflict and more trauma. It's not really that she is trying to please people per se, it's more of she copes with things by caring for others and making them happy. Which in theory sounds nice and noble, but it also can be destructive (not like I know this from experience or anything).

After being around Citali for a while, the others become fawners in their own ways to deal with their trauma, though Citali makes sure they don't go overboard with it. She knows how unhealthy it can become and she doesn't want them to be reliant on it like she has been at various times in her life.

Cid wasn't always involved in shady business dealings. She was a pretty average person at one point with a simple dream to have a bar where people all over would come to have a good time. But after Citali's mother's death, she struggled to deal with her feelings and became involved in shady stuff, and focused on her business as a way to cope.

Citali is the closest thing she has to a child, and she would do almost anything for her.

Cid was honestly a little ticked off when she realized what was happening between Citali and Echo because she didn't want Citali to become involved in their way of life. But after seeing them together a few times, it was obvious they were made for each other. And if Cid could have picked any of the Bad Batch to be a partner for Citali, she'd pick Echo.

The fight Citali and Cid had when Citali quit her job at the bar wasn't so much about her quitting as it was that Cid thought Citali was becoming obsessed with her training. Cid was afraid she was filling the void in her life by trying to save people and Cid wanted more for Citali than that. But Cid isn't great at expressing her emotions and they both misunderstood each other. That's when the fight happened.

When the Bad Batch first met Citali they thought the blood she had on her clothes from the birth was from killing someone, and they were both super confused and a little afraid of her at first.

One of Citali's best skills as a midwife is counseling, and everyone comes to her for advice and to talk about their feelings. This skill was one of the main reasons Echo fell for her.

I actually have more if anyone is interested, but this is getting long and my caseworker is finally ready to see me.

Next chapter of the fic should be posted by tomorrow 💕

#headcanons #the bad batch #tw: blood mention #oc headcanons #tw: pregnancy

[goldeneyedgirl]

Who’s ur favorite and least favorite twilight character and why?

LOL, oh man. Prepare for Discourse, Anon. 

My favourite character is Alice (that might be very obvious). I think she was wasted in Twilight, and that she has so much potential. 

She has no recollection of being human. She is a totally blank slate with a gift that is essentially an extra sense or limb. Like, this girl cannot be ‘okay’. I believe in my heart of hearts that Alice functions differently to other people. I mean, I infer from canon that her visions taught her everything that she needed to know - from how to feed, to how to convince Jasper, to how to join the Cullens. She’s going to get the wrong answer? She’ll change what she says!

And that is utterly fucking terrifying - especially if she was aware and doing it intentionally. But I do not think she is, in that sense. I just don’t think she would have any idea of how to live without her visions showing her what to do next. Alice is a hostage to her own gift, and always has been. 

Even her interactions with Bella and Edward in canon are really uncanny, like she’s playing a role - which is more reflective of SMeyer’s piss-poor writing ability than any sort of intention - but indicative that Alice is Not Okay, and kind of explains a lot about how the Cullen family is portrayed. 

A lot of what I love about Alice, and her relationship with Jasper, are things I’ve absorbed from fan-content - what we can infer from the information we’ve been given. Her conviction about her and Jasper, to me, is beautiful and both terribly childlike, and something someone who has suffered deeply would absolutely cling to as a lifeline. The idea that Jasper isn’t just her husband, but her very best friend and confidant as well, paints such a lovely picture of the symbiosis they have. I think that, whilst it’s normally Poised, Confident Alice to Rescue Struggling Depressed Jasper portrayed in fandom, that there is a distinctive possibility that two individuals who were both fucked over in the gift department and were holding onto reality by a strand found each other and rescued each other might be closer to the truth.

I also LOVE fashion, so I kind of get Alice on that level; and I treat Alice - when I write her - as someone with mental illness (like myself) because I find that very satisfying to write, and to explore. I can PROJECT, which is super fun.

Jasper’s a close second because holy moly, he has so much potential from a fic-writing perspective? This is a man who was not a good person as a human - like, there are Varying Reasons he would join the Confederate Army and be proud of being a Major, but that’s a TOTALLY different piece of discourse so we’ll put a pin in that because statistically, it meant he was a racist fighting for racist ideals. And THEN he is changed into a vampire and joins the Southern Wars, falling further into evil as far as violence, hate, and senseless death goes. 

Like this man was a full monster.

And it was eating him alive.

So he just walked away. Alice did not save him. Peter did not save him. Jasper walked away. Peter gave him the opportunity to do so. Alice offered him goals and a way to improve who he is. There’s nothing he can do about the evil he sowed, the legacy he has created. And he has to live with that every single day for eternity. Has to deal with the burn of his thirst, exacberated by years of gorging on human blood, every single day. There is no solution to/for Jasper. It’s one hell or another. And that is so much fun from a fic-writing perspective. 

Plus his dynamic with Maria is so crazy fun - Mother? Lover? General? What does ‘good terms’ even mean? I assume it’s code for ‘cold war’ or ‘not actively seeking the other’s destruction’, but who knows. I love that. 

Jessamine is also super fun and beloved by me, but that’s because she’s either Jasper-derivitive or my particular portrayal of a separate character, so she doesn’t count. 

As for my least favourite, that honour goes to Edward. Full disclosure, I have not read Midnight Sun, only skimmed parts, because the only thing worse than that would be reading EdBella fic. 

I think he’s an arrogant, misogynistic, controlling little brat, honestly. He’s above the rules and the laws when it suits him - at the cost to everyone - and he condemns Rosalie and Jasper so quickly and thoroughly with very little in-text justification. 

He says that Rosalie is vain - well, Captain Dipshit, maybe after being violently and fatally gang-raped by a group including her fiance Rosalie might deal with a lot of body issues - and copes with them the best way she can. Maybe after being raised with a priority of being beautiful above all else, and then harmed in such a grotesque way because of her beauty, and then becoming more beautiful might fuck with your mental health a little, Eddie.

Edward has a bad habit of classifying women in absolutes like Madonna/Whore, depending on his personal beliefs - which, as a frozen 17 year old from the 1900s, is fairly goddamn dubious. Rosalie and Tanya are both ‘bad’, Esme, Alice, and Bella are all ‘good’. But there are no women that Edward fully ‘trusts’ or allows to ‘win’/direct him. He prizes Bella because of her unreadable mind - she is a puzzle and something to possess. They are never partners. Edward uses Alice, Who Tries Her Very Best, as a weapon against Bella multiple times. I often wonder if it isn’t Edward who encourages Alice, off-page/off-screen, to play dress-ups, to make Bella into what Edward expects in a wife. 

Edward is over-indulged by both Esme and Carlisle; honestly, with his gift, I wouldn’t be surprised if he manipulates the family into their slightly toxic dynamic (it’s hard to tell because of SMeyer’s obvious bias, and the perspective of the novels) because it benefits him so much. It puts him second only to Carlisle - Jasper cannot be trusted despite his comprehensive understanding of vampires, especially when it comes to turf battles, and Emmett’s just a frat boy. Or is this the portrait Edward has painted so he gets to be #1 Son?

Edward is the goddamn architect of every disaster the Cullens face because what he wants is dangerous and illegal. Without Edward’s Volterra Tantrum, Aro never would have challenged the Cullens in Breaking Dawn. Victoria’s attack would have been neutralised before the Cullens even got wind of it. Bella never would have gone cliff-diving or solo-hiking if Edward hadn’t dumped her in the cruelest way possible. 

I honestly, truly believe that Edward shouldn’t have had a mate, let alone a wife and child. 

Also, movie!Edward looked like he needed a fucking shower and a flea dip in nearly every scene. 

Bella’s a close second because I have known girls like Bella and fuck me, they are deeply unpleasant to be friends with. She fucks over EVERYONE in pursuit of Edward. I understand that she doesn’t have the same interests as Alice, but not once just she make a suggestion for an alternative activity or a compromise (and that could be Bad Writing again, because Bella appears to have very few hobbies beyond ‘reading’ but it’s what we’re working with). 

In fact, I would argue that Alice tries her very best to be Bella’s friend, but it’s a futile attempt - Bella tolerates Alice because of Alice’s proximity to Edward. If Alice had been a human student at Forks High, you can bet that Bella would have dumped her as fast as possible. Bella has very few moments where she’s positive about the people around her outside of the Cullens (by association with Edward) or Jacob. Charlie gets mostly pity. Everyone else is looked upon with disapproval and judgement (which, again, reflects toxic writing tropes.) 

And Bella martyrs herself at every opportunity. There’s a lot of discourse where Bella’s neglectful childhood is examined, but Bella fucking lunges into the ‘victim’ role at every possibility. And ultimately, I really don’t see Bella maturing or learning anything at all through the series. It’s always about what she wants, above everything else. She succeeds because she and Edward are incredibly selfish individuals who are enabled by the parental figures around them. 

Second runner-up is Carlisle. 

#alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight discourse #twilight renaissance #bella swan #edward cullen #my thoughts #Anonymous